


Dignity in Fear

by TheXtremeBass



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-17 02:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 38,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8126741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheXtremeBass/pseuds/TheXtremeBass
Summary: In the throws of dark times, Hermione finds safety from an unexpected source.





	1. The Power of Music

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I have been working this for a long two + years now; seen me through two relationships and two (NOW THREE!) states.  
> It has been a good companion.  
> Note that there is an ever so slight cross-over between Harry Potter and Lost Girl in this fic; blink and you'll miss it.  
> Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy; please note the generic disclaimer that none of these names or characters belong to me and that this is fiction.
> 
> Please read and review! I will be posting another chapter in a few days.

Hermione liked to drink tea, preferably at 3 in the morning when most of the inhabitants of 12 Grimmauld Place -at least those that weren’t off on assignment- were already in their rooms. At that hour she had room to breathe and, lulled by the constant creaking of the settling house and the mutterings of Kreacher, actually allow herself to relax. These days both of those necessities were in short supply. 

Hermione sat down heavily at the kitchen table, groaned loudly and stared glassy-eyed into the murky depths of her mug. A thin layer of dust was already decorating the surface of the steaming liquid, but she took a hearty swig anyways before running a hand through her hair. Ron and Harry were probably already snoring heartily away in their room; she had no idea how they could do it. Falling asleep was the first item on a long list of things Hermione had no ability to do after five hours of Order business. She could still hear Mad-Eye Moody pounding his fist on the table repeatedly, trying to bring order to the….Order. 

Hermione giggled, drunk with exhaustion and frayed nerves. 

Crookshanks, who had been sleeping on a musty blanket folded next to the kitchen hearth, stretched languidly and jumped on the table, grumbling and snuffing hopefully in the direction of her mug. She considered shooing him away, but came to the conclusion that she didn’t care. As Crookshanks settled down to lap at the tea, Hermione found it strangely thrilling to not care about something. Seemed like all she did lately was care, worry and feel responsible; about everything; and everyone. She was bursting with it. Between the war, and Harry’s constant drama, Hermione hadn’t done anything purely for herself in, well, she did know how long. She had been the serious, studious, overthinking, bloody parent of the two idiots slumbering happily upstairs since she met them. She cocked an ear in the direction of the stairs out of habit to see if Harry was having another nightmare. But having already jumped off the ledge of not caring once, and finding it agreeable, she decided to once again not care.

“Gits.” she grumbled, doggedly leaning back in her chair to rest her head against the wall, arms hanging limply at her sides. She stared up at the ceiling and watched dust fall slowly through the floorboards as some Order member wandered sleepily towards the bathroom. The Bathroom. It has a tub. Hermione’s hand came up to swipe at the back of her neck, Ew. She wished, not for the first time, that the wizarding world would accept the highly convenient Muggle invention: the common, household shower. Though a bath called to her, she was too tired to fill it.

A door creaked upstairs, sending another snow of dust drifting onto Hermione’s shoulders. The clock on the mantle chimed the half hour. Kreacher grumbled in the cupboard under the sink. Crookshanks yawned and licked his lips. Hermione closed her eyes, legs stretched out, head lolling against the bricks, arms still dangling numbly at her sides. The night sounds of the house were strangely comforting, the quiet comings and goings of the inhabitants becoming a part of a natural rhythm. Like a living organism, this house.

An unfamiliar sound permeated the walls, making Hermione jump, eyes popping blearily open. From somewhere upstairs a muffled rhythm, a haunting voice...”What the…” Hermione sat up, ears cocked, confusion showing in the lines of her face. Rising slowly from her seat, she edged around the table and tip-toed towards the stairs, as if the subdued rhythm would blink out of existence if she moved too quickly. She recognized the sound, had heard it somewhere, but it was flicking just out of reach as she softly climbed the stairs. Pausing on the landing of the second floor, Hermione scanned the bedroom doors, listening. Determining that the third floor was a better bet, she climbed again, instinctively avoiding the creaky boards. On the third floor were Fred and George’s room, Harry and Ron’s room, and her and Ginny’s room. At the end of the hall…Tonks. She hadn’t even known that the witch was at home. She had not been at dinner, nor at the endless after-dinner planning session. It wasn’t unusual, sometimes after particularly strenuous missions members would disappear into their spaces for a day.

Hermione swiftly crossed to Tonks’ door, carefully putting her ear to the wooden panel. A faint light glowed around the edges of the door, as from a shuttered lamp. From here she could plainly hear the rough voice of Janis Joplin soulfully crooning “Summertime”, a particular favorite of Hermione’s father. Before she could think too much about it, curiosity overran caution and she knocked on the scratched surface. “Tonks? You in there?” Hermione listened for a second, and then tried the door handle, finding it unlocked. Bored, exhausted, and inquisitive, she took her chances and stuck her head into the room. 

Hermione had never seen the inside of Tonks’ room. For that matter, she had not seen the inside of most rooms in 12 Grimmauld Place. In a world where there was so little time for personal space, the members of the Order seemed to try their hardest to give privacy where it could be given; if it could be given at all. 

Tonks’ room was softly lit by an array of colorful candles, illuminating a messy jar of quills, open ink bottles, and rolls of parchment on a table against the far wall. Her bed was unmade, the old brass bedframe just as tarnished and bent as hers, with black satin sheets and a plaid quilt over the top. Tonks’ Comet 260 leaned against the wall behind the door and a trunk at the end of the bed overflowed with clothes, many obviously muddy or wet. Hermione’s eyes were drawn to the walls as she stepped further into the room; they were strewn with old Muggle band posters: The Clash, Sex Pistols, Crass, Buzzcocks, Dead Kennedy’s; also The Beatles, Janis Joplin, and Joan Jett. The window was open, and was obviously the source of the music. Taking one more look around, Hermione headed towards the window. Putting her hands on the sill, she leaned out into the night air “Tonks? Oh!” She flinched, not expecting to find the witch sitting on the fire escape 

“’mione!” Tonks exclaimed, obviously startled. Her cropped hair flashed a dusky purple before returning to its usual bubblegum pink. The witch had a lit cigarette held between the pointer and thumb of her left hand, and her wand stuck out the top of her muddy boot. The small radio sitting on the grating under the window switched to “Crimson and Clover” by Joan Jett, another song from Hermione’s memories in the Muggle world. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Tonks reached out, as if to turn off the radio.

“No! No it’s okay, leave it on. I hadn’t gone to bed yet.” Hermione replied, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “When did you get back?” she blinked owlishly, eyes adjusting to the dark.  
Tonks took a drag of her cigarette, face glowing in the light from the ember. “I got back just a while ago, while you guys were at supper.” She exhaled through her nose, briefly enveloping Hermione in the smell of fresh tobacco. “I caught Mad-Eye Moody while he was grabbing something from his room, briefed him and told him I was knackered. Been out here ever since.” She smiled, cocking an eyebrow at Hermione’s awkward position in the window. “Come on out, join me” She said, indicating the empty space next to her.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder, briefly considering her silent dusty vigil downstairs, but swung her leg over the sill and accepted the heavy cloak Tonks held out to her. It smelled of tobacco, old beer and the slightest hint of fire; that smell you get in the back of your nose when you directly intake the heat of a flame. It was delicious, warm, and very much unexpected, and she quickly burrowed into it. 

Hermione hadn’t spent a lot of time alone with the metamorphmagus. Due to Tonks’ abilities she was often on assignment. When she was “at home”, she was often bright and funny, entertaining the glum Order. Just the other night she had spent all dinner sporting a hog’s nose and large rabbit ears, much to the chagrin of Molly Weasley. Hermione had quickly ascertained that the flamboyant witch was both inexorably flirtatious and intensely clumsy. Tonks had caught Hermione staring interestedly at her upon their first meeting, and had winked coyly at her, making Hermione blush fiercely. Later the same night Tonks had managed to not only knock over her own mug of beer, but also break two plates while helping with the dishes. Everything about Nymphadora Tonks quietly intrigued Hermione, she wasn’t like any of the other witches or wizards she had ever met. She was refreshing.

Tonks snubbed out her cigarette on the grating and settled more comfortably against the bricks. “You like Janis?” She inquired. 

Hermione jumped, shaking herself out of the comfortable fog she had found herself in “Huh?” she said.

“Janis. Janis Joplin? The song that was playing?” Tonks gestured teasingly towards the radio, which was now softly playing something unfamiliar, but still pleasant.

“Oh! Yeah, I love Janis. And Joan Jett. My parents always listened to them when I was growing up.” Hermione blushed, playing with the studs that lined the zipper of Tonks’ cloak.   
Tonks chuckled and scooted closer, “Ya, my dad introduced me to a lot of Muggle music when I was growing up. He was Muggle-born, like you.” She smirked at Hermione’s blatant shock. “I even went to a few Muggle concerts when I was growing up. I saw Joan Jett, the Sex Pistols, and a few others. I stopped after I once got a little too far into my cups and ended up scaring the Merlin out of a group of Muggles.” She laughed, a contagious, throaty sound that Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle along with. “Luckily, the Muggles were on some serious drugs at the time, and a person suddenly turning into a mutant creature before their eyes wasn’t too far out of the question. Since my morphing doesn’t register to the Ministry as using magic, they never knew about it” She paused theatrically, holding her breath. “As an afterthought, you probably shouldn’t tell the Order any of that. Could possibly lose my job.” The last part was whispered out of the corner of her mouth, eyes rolling teasingly. 

Hermione burst out laughing. It felt so good, she laughed until her ribs hurt. “These lips are sealed.” She panted, smiling at the older witch, who she found was smiling warmly back at her from only six inches away, their shoulders touching. Hermione’s breath hitched, the scent of beer and tobacco, flame and flesh, swirling in her exhausted brain. She leaned back against the wall and pulled the cloak more firmly around her neck, hiding the moment in busy movement. “So, we have a fire escape?” Hermione suddenly inquired.

Tonks chuckled low in her throat and pulled her wand out of her boot, fiddling with it. “Well, we do now.” Hermione cocked her eyebrow. “Old Grimmauld Place can get to be a bit much. Sometimes it’s nice to sit outside.” Tonks said, shrugging her shoulders and biting back a yawn. 

Hermione could have stayed right there, surrounded by the soothing warmth of Tonks’ cloak, until dawn. It was so nice to just sit and talk to someone, especially another woman, who wasn’t’t expecting her to have all the answers to all of the problems, but Tonks looked like she was fading fast, and Hermione needed to find her own bed. She stirred and moved to stand, levering herself up stiffly. “We should both get to bed, it must be around 4 AM.” Hermione said, suddenly extremely tired herself. 

Tonks rubbed her eyes and put out a hand, which Hermione took and helped the older witch to her feet. Standing face to face, Tonks was slightly taller than Hermione, but only just.   
“Yeah I should probably hit the sheets. But you should come out here again with me sometime. We can listen to some music and unwind a bit.” She smiled again. Even sleepy, it was impish, reckless, and completely radiant. Hermione’s head spun.

“Let’s do that.” Hermione said distractedly, turning to climb back through the window. The two witches shared a warm, slightly flirtatious (Tonks), slightly shy (Hermione) good-night before Hermione headed down the hall towards the room she and Ginny shared, the light from the room blinking out as Tonks shut the door. It was only when Hermione went to change for bed that she realized that she still wore Tonks’ cloak, the smell of beer and tobacco and fire still warming her skin.


	2. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!  
> The usual disclaimers apply.  
> Read and Review! I will post another chapter tomorrow

The next day the entire house was rousted from bed by Molly Weasley, who was bent on continuing the chore of cleaning the house. Yawning Order members wended their way towards the kitchen in various degrees of dress. Wizard dressing gowns were often particularly shabby affairs, with baroque patterns and faded colors. Arthur Weasley sported such a horrendously well-loved specimen, complete with faded yellow fringe and capering hippogryphs, that Hermione couldn’t help choking on her toast at breakfast. As Ron was helpfully, and painfully, pounding her on the back, Tonks sauntered in, cocked a dark eyebrow at the spluttering witch, and accepted a steaming mug of strong tea from Molly. Hermione took a large swallow of her pumpkin juice, noting out of the corner of her eye that Tonks was not sporting a dressing gown like the majority of the older Order members save Mad-Eye, who like always was fully dressed, right down to his muddy cloak and boots. Instead Tonks was wearing an oversized long-sleeved thermal and a pair of men’s fuzzy PJ pants; her pink hair was sleep-tousled and at the moment barely three inches long.   
“Mornin’” Tonks said with her usual vigor, sitting down at the table next to Ron, who had gone back to shoveling bacon and eggs into his mouth with utter abandon. 

Hermione smiled over Ron’s head “Morning Tonks. Did you sleep well?” The older witch gratefully accepted her own plate from Molly, piled high with breakfast fare, and turned back to Hermione.

“Oh yeah, slept great. Not nearly enough though, eh Molly?” Tonks teased, inciting a motherly nudge from Mrs. Weasley as she passed by on the way to Arthur’s empty tea mug.

“Getting you lot moving in the morning is nothing compared to Fred and George when they were younger. Couldn’t move them from their beds with a Locomotor spell.” Molly intoned, once again bustling back towards the kitchen. According to Arthur Weasley, when Molly was fretting she became the quintessential mother hen, firmly taking everyone in sight under her wing and feeding them. With force if necessary. “It’s best if you just let her get on with it,” Arthur had whispered to her a few nights ago, after Molly had stomped through the quiet study and magicked all the disordered and dusty books back onto their shelves with a flick of her wand. The wind from the volumes flying past her and Arthurs heads had been so intense that it took minutes for Hermione to reorganize her hair. When she had resettled herself in the armchair, she found a steaming cup of tea on the side table, with one of her favorite biscuits. Mother hen indeed. 

As Molly was magicking the dishes clean-and fending off Tonks’ offer to help-, Hermione, Ron, and Harry got up from the table to attend to a pixie nest that Sirius had found in the basement the day before.

“Oh, hey Hermione” Tonks said around a final mouthful of toast, grabbing for the younger witch’s sleeve and nearly tripping over her own feet, “you have my cloak in your room, yeah?”   
Hermione paused, keenly aware of the interested looks directed at her from Harry and Ron. She could practically feel the questions building pressure in their heads. She turned to face Tonks’ heady smile, “Yeah, it’s at the end of my bed, I forgot to give it back to you last night. You want me to bring it to you?” Hermione tried to sound matter-of-fact, the noise level in the room had dropped suddenly.

“Nah, I’ll just grab it, you got pixies to deal with,” Tonks said, poking her shoulder mischievously. 

Hermione smiled back, and turned, purposefully walking between Harry and Ron to break their identical expressions of confusion.

“Since when do you hang out with Tonks? Harry asked as they clambered down the stairs to the basement.

Ron reached the bottom of the stairs and turned to face Hermione, who was still maintaining a blank face. “She’s kind of, you know, a bit odd,” Ron said, earning a glare from Hermione, who stalked off into the shadows of the basement. Ron looked to Harry, flabbergasted. “It’s the animal noses, is all.”   
Hermione continued to say nothing.


	3. Running a Bath

Hermione stomped upstairs, too incensed to care who heard her. It had taken the entire afternoon to clear out the “small pixie nest” in the basement that Sirius had mentioned, due to the rules against under-17’s using magic outside of school. Armed with cages, bait and wooden bats, the three of them had gotten thoroughly chewed up. At one point Ron had nearly gotten a finger bitten off after heroically charging empty-handed at the nest mother, who had been sizing up Hermione. Afterwards, Ron had headed right to the study to get fussed over by Mrs. Weasley, and Harry had gotten sucked into the anxious codling as well. Hermione had slipped away as soon as the three of them surfaced from the basement; she could feel that Mad-Eye Moody was gearing up for another long Order meeting, but she was making a bee-line -with a short stop for a towel- towards that glorious claw-foot tub. All she wanted was 30 minutes, though she knew that half of it would be spent filling the tub “the Muggle way” as Mr. Weasley would phrase it.

Rounding the landing on the third floor, Hermione stalked heedlessly towards the bathroom, colliding head-on with Tonks. 

Hermione squeaked in surprise as Tonks’ hair flashed violet purple, “Oh! Merlin, I’m so sorry T-“ 

Tonks chuckled and took a deep breathe, leaning on Hermione for support as her heartbeat slowed and her hair flushed pink again. “You gotta stop surprising me like this,” she teased, before taking in Hermione’s disheveled appearance and fresh pixie bites. “Hey, you alright?” Tonks inquired, trying to catch the younger witch’s eyes.

Hermione’s poise ruptured. “Ron almost got his finger bitten off and Harry is being all -all- heroic! He won’t talk to us about anything, like we don’t know, couldn’t possibly know. Merlin’s Beard the two of them are helpless and You-Know-Who is out there and sometimes I just -wonder- if I wasn’t around whether they would still be wandering the third floor corridor at Hogwarts, lost on their way to charms! And Ron, he almost got his finger -bitten- off, by a -pixie-,” Hermione paused for breath, holding her pointer finger in front of Tonks’ eyes for effect. “And he keeps blundering around with his big puppy eyes expecting me to fall in -love-. He’s-he’s like my brother, Tonks and I don’t know how to let him down.” Hermione fizzled into silence, the merest hint of tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. 

Tonks shrugged bemusedly and put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder, squeezing warmly, “Sounds about right.” Glancing down at the towel clenched tightly in Hermione’s fist, she asked, “You want me to fill the bath for you?”

Hermione looked up into Tonks’ eyes, they were dark blue and inescapably kind. She sniffed and squared her shoulders, straightening her shirtfront, “Yes that would be lovely. Thank you” She said with dignity.

Tonks squeezed Hermione’s shoulder again, then returned to the bathroom and with a gesture filled the tub to the brim, the water steaming invitingly. Screwing up her face in mock-concentration, she summoned a washing cloth and soap from the cabinet in the hall. 

Unlike other people -Harry and Ron- Hermione was never fooled by Tonks’ lighthearted foolery. The older witch was an Auror, had been hand-picked by Mad-Eye Moody a year ago and had since dueled with dozens of Death Eaters, and come away whole. Behind the clumsiness was an incredible store of power that firmly warranted her seat in the Order.

“There ya go,” Tonks said, bowing theatrically to Hermione, who couldn’t help but smile, just a little. Tonks straightened and moved towards the door, “Nice and hot” she intoned, winking fiendishly at Hermione, who immediately flushed. 

“Thank you,” Hermione said, fiddling with a stray thread on her towel.

Tonks leaned on the door jam, all smiles “Anytime. If you’re up for it after the meeting, I have some music I think you would like.” Not waiting for a response, she suddenly disapparated.   
Hermione blinked, before softly closing the bathroom door and turning towards a much-earned bath. 

 

As it happened, the Order meeting went so late, due to Harry’s upcoming trial at the Ministry, that Hermione barely made it into her PJ’s before collapsing into her bed. 

Around four in the morning, Tonks was shaken awake by Mad-Eye Moody. A report of strange activity had come in; strange enough that it couldn’t wait. As the sleepy witch blundered around her room, trying her hardest to be quiet but still succeeding in dropping her broom -twice-, she quickly scrawled a messy note on a scrap of parchment and sent it winging away with a flick of her wand. Finally, she pulled on her boots over dreadfully mismatched socks and threw on her heavy cloak, inhaling deeply at the collar where a faint scent of rose soap and ink lingered. Smiling, she grabbed her broom and headed downstairs, and out into the night. 

When Hermione awoke the next morning, she found a splotched and barely legible note resting on her bedside table. Ginny eyed her curiously as she sat up and pushed her hair out of her face, holding the note in the light from the dusty window. 

“Is it from Ron?” Ginny eagerly threw her sheets back, ready to explode into gossip-mode.

Hermione grinned, tucking the note into the dusty copy of The Ministry of Magic, a History: Vol. 68 that sat next to her bed. “God no. It’s just a note from Harry about something he wants me to look up. For his hearing.” She added hastily, at Ginny’s raised eyebrow and pursed lips. “I’m gonna grab the washroom before the boys get in there. Have you ever noticed how long Ron takes to get ready?” Hermione babbled, grabbing her clothes and slipping out the door before Ginny could pry further.

As she tackled Mrs. Weasley’s endless list of chores, accompanied by a constant barrage of angst from Harry, and oafishness from Ron, the note kept popping into her thoughts, making her smile at inopportune moments.

“Hermione-  
Mad-Eye needs me to go check something out. Will be back, in one piece -large ink splotch- have not forgotten I promised you music. Can use fire escape while gone. Do not maim Ron, nor Harry, before return.   
Stay whole,  
Tonks.


	4. Hermione Worries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usual disclaimers apply!  
> Please read and review!

As supper time arrived without any sign of Tonks, Hermione started to fidget. It wasn’t anything particularly abnormal; sometimes assignments took days to complete, she reminded herself again as Fred and George apparated into the kitchen with a loud ‘crack’, making her jump and look to make sure it wasn’t the pink-haired Auror. 

When they all sat down at the table, Hermione found herself in the middle of a dozen cross-table conversations, none of which she felt like participating in. Molly was yelling at Fred and George –again- about the responsible use of magic, which the twins were avidly ignoring by talking loudly across the table at Harry and Ron about their latest scheme. Harry was switching between moodily staring into his potato soup, and gazing longingly at Ginny from behind his shaggy bangs, while Ginny’s pink cheeks attested to the fact that she had noticed Harry’s stare, but was now loudly arguing with Fred about the morality of selling puking pastilles to first years. Ron, his mouth completely full of soup-soaked bread, was recounting the afternoon’s trials cleaning the attic to Sirius, who was obviously attempting to have a sobering conversation with Remus and Arthur. Arthur was trying his hardest to hide behind the Daily Prophet, to no avail. Hermione kept her head down, and brooded over her soup.

It wasn’t like she thought that Tonks was incapable of defending herself, exactly the opposite. The truth of the matter was that Tonks had come and gone from 12 Grimmauld Place multiple times during Hermione’s stay, and had always come back whole; but her absence had never felt this stressful before. It was like her inner compass had been stuck on the woman ever since that night on the fire escape. 

Shaking off the sensory memory of Tonks’ cloak wrapped tightly around her, heavy and irresistible, Hermione appeased Molly -who had been attempting to give her seconds- with a smile and excused herself from the table. Spending some time with the massive collection of books in the study would be sufficient to calm her nerves, but she quickly changed course when she saw Mad-Eye Moody slouched over an enormous tome, his dinner set neatly on the table next to him. The last thing she needed was more talk about You-Know-Who. 

She was being silly, the whole thing was just silly. When Tonks did return, she would probably report that she had spent a few days trailing an innocuous wizard after they had bought something suspicious at Borgin and Burkes for their nephew’s collection. 

“There’s nothing to worry about” she muttered to herself, as she often did when her head started to get that buzzing, over-stuffed feeling, and sluggishly started to climb the stairs towards the third floor. Upon reaching the landing, she automatically swung towards her bedroom, but paused with her hand on the knob when Tonks’ door at the end of the hall caught her eye. 

Hermione walked over and hesitated, looking back over her shoulder and listening hard for the tread of anyone coming upstairs, before ducking inside. 

Now that she was in the dark of Tonks’ room, she shook her head in anxious disbelief. She could not believe that she was actually in here. She should just turn around and go to bed, Tonks would probably be back by the time she got up. 

She. Was. Being. Ridiculous. 

But there was that smell, that smell that screamed Tonks. It slid against her like silk, and before she knew it the knot in her chest had eased, and she could breathe. Hermione blinked in the dark, something new beginning to actualize in a dusty compartment of her conscious, but before the thought could fully form, there was a loud ‘bang’ from downstairs, followed by the screeching of the portrait of Walburga Black, Sirius’s mother, in the entryway.

Before Hermione could think twice, she was outside in the hallway, gripping the stair bannister and straining to distinguish the tangle of voices beneath the shrieking of the portrait. She could clearly hear Sirius bellowing at the visage of his mother, and she couldn’t mistake Mad-Eye’s guttural growl for anyone else in the house; she closed her eyes and listened, barely breathing.

“I’m so sorry! I swear I can’t walk through this door without setting the old thing off,” Hermione’s grip on the bannister loosened at the sound of Tonks’ rough cadence. 

“I swear Tonks, it’s a miracle you ever passed your Auror exams” Lupin chastised, though any response was quickly overrun by a babble of voices, which moved towards the kitchen. 

Hermione let out a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and strode into her room to continue her literary explorations of the Ministry of Magic.


	5. Duck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usual disclaimers apply!  
> Thank you all for reading and keep the reviews coming!

Hermione didn’t know why she was sitting alone in her room when all she wanted to do was go downstairs and see Tonks. At the very least she was interested in the news that the witch may have brought. For any other member of the Order she would be downstairs. If it were Ron or Harry or Ginny, there would be hugging involved. But the thought of hugging Tonks, being that –close- to her, coupled with the half-formed thought she’d had in the witch’s room, gave her the feeling of being very high up and sensing she was about to slip. Exhilarating, in a sweaty-palms, stomach falling out your ass sort of way.

She snapped her book shut in frustration, rising to pace the length of her room, her hair beginning to fluff out of its ties. 

She was still being ridiculous. So what if she was developing –deep breath- feelings for Tonks? Between the stress of You-Know-Who’s return, Harry’s Ministry trial, and Ron’s crush, it was surprising that she hadn’t found someone to attach to sooner. The fact that Tonks was a woman didn’t bother her as much as the fact that she had feelings at all. Feelings were the last thing she needed right now, she had everyone else’s to worry about. 

Anyways, her neighbors growing up had been two women, and they were perfectly normal. Also, she had read Books. You could never under value a well-rounded education.

Pausing her pacing, she checked herself in the cracked wall-mirror and made up her mind. She would stop being ridiculous and let herself have her feelings. Eventually, they would go away, as they usually did. It was harmless, and the whole Order knew that Lupin had his eye set on Tonks, there wasn’t any way you could miss it, he was almost as bad as Ron. Though Lupin was much better at brooding about it than Ron was.

Re-taming her hair, she picked up her book from the floor and was carefully setting it on her bedside table when someone knocked a lilting rhythm on her door. Figuring it was Harry and Ron, she absently opened it, snapping into alertness when it turned out to be Tonks, mud-covered and drenched, with her broom slung over her shoulder and a small rucksack at her belt. As always, she was grinning.

“Hey, Ron said he thought you were up here,” Tonks said, wiping mud off her cheek with an equally muddy sleeve, creating a broader swath of muck on her face, “you’re good at cleaning spells, ya?” the corner of her mouth was twitching between a smile and barely suppressed laughter, an embarrassed shade of pink coloring her cheeks behind the mud. 

Hermione blinked, realizing that she had been staring at the blush on Tonks’ cheeks, and stuttered out “Yes, I’m pretty good.”

“Would you mind helping me then?” Her eyes glinted in the light from the gas lamps.

Hermione, her chest feeling annoyingly tight, nodded and pulled her wand out of her sweater pocket, thinking the other witch wanted it done right there.

“Hold up,” Tonks smiled, turning suddenly towards her bedroom and nearly hitting Hermione in the face with the foot-stands of her broom, “come to my room, I need to change and put my shit down” she said over her shoulder.

Hermione, still holding her wand, followed at a safe distance from the dripping, muddy mess of the broom, and tried to calm the flush creeping up her neck as she stepped into the witch’s room for the second time that night. With her heart racing, she quickly sat down on the bed. 

“Thanks for giving me a hand. I’m starving, but Molly won’t let me near the kitchen looking like this and I’m completely hopeless with these spells.” Tonks set down her bag, which squelched unpleasantly, and leaned her broom against the wall, chuckling to herself, “Believe it or not, I hit a duck.”

Hermione guffawed, “You what?” she choked out, watching Tonks pull off her boots, revealing thread-bare mismatched socks.

“Yeah, it came out of nowhere and hit me in the face, and I guess I was really not paying attention because I fell off into a drainage ditch about a half mile from here.” 

Hermione couldn’t help it, she burst into uncontrollable laughter, her nerves completely forgotten.

With her eyes happily glued to Hermione, Tonks peeled off her fingerless gloves and dropped them on the floor, followed by her cloak, hoody and soggy thermal. 

Hermione sat up, still hiccupping slightly, and met Tonks’ dark eyes, which were sparkling with mischief; she was standing a few feet from the bed, her pink hair damp and mussed with mud, stripped down to black canvas knee-length pants over tights and a striped undershirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

“I didn’t know you have tattoos,” Hermione stammered, all of the nerves piling back onto her chest like a mound of bricks.

“I got a few” Tonks smirked. It was an understatement, her entire right arm was covered in whorls of color that disappeared behind her tank top. There were also scars; a large, knotted one roped over her left shoulder, another one under her collar bone looked more like a puncture wound.

Hermione cleared her throat, flustered. “So, want me to, uh?” She gestured towards the dirt on the other witch’s face. 

“Oh! Oh yeah” Tonks ran her hand through her short hair, showering her bare shoulders in a dusting of drying muck, and one brown downy feather, which they both watched float to the floor. Tonks met Hermione’s eyes with an ironic shrug.

Hermione stood, smiling indulgently “Come here” she said quietly. Brandishing her wand, she slowly circled the older witch, whispering the words for the scouring and hot-air charms. As the mud and water lifted from Tonks’ skin, Hermione felt the air between them buzz. She could smell Tonks, that same mixture of tobacco, beer and heat that made her feel dizzy. Both of them were completely quiet, and as Hermione circled around to Tonks’ front, she gathered her nerves and looked up, to find the other woman staring at her from under her lashes, grinning impishly. Hermione swallowed hard and blushed furiously.

Tonks tilted her head, eyeing Hermione. There was heat in her gaze, and it crackled along Hermione’s skin like electricity, setting her chest on fire with the effort to continue breathing steadily.   
Feeling light-headed, Hermione broke eye contact and determinedly bent to pick up Tonks’ cloak from the pile at their feet, “Your tattoos, they’re Muggle-made.” She choked out, desperately trying to keep everything together as she began to scour and dry the cloak.

Tonks didn’t respond right away, after a beat or two she cleared her throat “Uh, yeah, I don’t like wizarding tats.” Her voice was rougher than usual, strained and quiet. She ran her hand through her hair and grabbed a pouch of tobacco and rolling papers off the table before pushing open the window and sitting down on the sill. As Hermione finished the clothes, she moved on to the broom, sneaking a look at Tonks, who was trying very hard to roll a cigarette but mostly managing to dust the floorboards with twists of tobacco. 

“Why?” Hermione carefully inquired.

Tonks stuck her completed cigarette between her lips and flicked her fingers over the tip, instantly igniting it. “Well, for one thing, Muggle tattoos stay put. I don’t like things wiggling on my skin. Gives me the creeps.” She said lightly, exhaling out the window. Her glib attitude did not quite reach her eyes. 

Hermione returned the broom to its place behind the door and quietly sat down on the bed, facing the older witch. To Hermione, Tonks suddenly seemed exposed, assailable and unguarded. “Do they mean anything special to you?” She asked, genuinely interested.

Tonks fiddled with her necklace, “No, not really. I mean, I like the designs, but I mostly got them because they uh, stay,” she gestured to herself with her cigarette.

For a second Hermione was confused, then it hit her. “Oh! Like, when you morph?”

Tonks nodded, looking Hermione in the eye for the first time since the heady moment a few minutes previous. “It’s nice to have something that sticks around. You can lose yourself, when you can just change your reflection when you want to. Or when you don’t mean to.” She exhaled heavily, momentarily obscuring herself in a cloud of smoke. She suddenly chuckled with a sardonic edge, “When I was growing up, the first thing that most folks wanted to know when they figured out I was a metamorphmagus was what I really look like.” She turned to Hermione and stared, like she was daring her to ask the same.

“But that’s silly,” Hermione said, reassuringly meeting the other witch’s gaze. “You started morphing the moment you were born, right? Your ‘true form’ is whatever you are, in that moment. You probably have a form that you will relax into, like when you die, but otherwise you flow with your emotions. You’re liquid.” She paused, taking a deep breath and fiddling with the end of her sweater. “Plus, it’s always you. Your eyes change color, but they’re always yours.” This last was said quieter, gentler. 

Tonks became still, her cigarette slowly burning down between her thumb and pointer finger, and Hermione felt that she could see into the core of the other woman; all of her walls were down, and she was utterly vulnerable. 

An insistent knock on the door shook both of them into action. Tonks quickly stubbed out her cigarette and pulled on her clean hoody; Hermione stood and smoothed her sweater, once again gathering her wits as the door cracked open and Lupin stuck his head around the door.

“Oh, I, uh, Molly set aside some soup for you Tonks. I was just going to grab some tea and wondered if you, -clears throat- wanted to join me?” He looked harried and overdrawn, though he was obviously trying his hardest to be cheery and hopeful.

Tonks smiled, her wicked gleam returning in force, and held her belly, “Gods, I am starved. I’ll be along in a sec, okay?” Lupin nodded awkwardly, flicking his eyes to Hermione one more time before he retreated, closing the door softly.

As soon as Lupin’s footsteps retreated down the stairs, Tonks burst into a rasping giggle, resignedly turning her eyes to the ceiling. “Oh, Lupin, Lupin” she shook her head, still chuckling softly. “He’s almost worse than Ron.”

Hermione frowned, “You don’t return his feelings?” She asked as Tonks grabbed her cloak off the floor and hung it on a hook near the table.

Tonks laughed, “Nah, I love Remus, but not in that way.” She turned to face Hermione, “A few years ago we got sloshed and had one night that neither of us remember very well.” Hermione’s jaw dropped. “And now he is trying very hard to love me, but he’s just afraid of himself.” Tonks said over her shoulder as she looked in the mirror and adjusted her hair.

“Being a werewolf would be pretty scary.” Hermione intoned, trying to make sense of what the other witch was getting at.

Tonks turned, gleefully smirking, “It’s not the werewolf thing that’s got him so afraid, though that is reason enough to keep him up at night. Lupin is gay, he’s been boning with Sirius in secret ever since Harry’s dad died. He’s just going after me because he thinks I’m in the closet too, and we can like, hide out together.” 

Hermione’s eyes went wide, frozen in shock, and spluttered out the first thing that came to her mind, “Are you? In the closet, I mean.” 

Tonks sauntered over to Hermione, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “No, I’m not in the closet.” She said, winking seductively. 

Just as Hermione’s cheeks began to burn, Tonks wrapped her in a tight hug, and she found her nose pressed deliciously to the skin of the other woman’s neck. She inhaled, her brain fizzing and popping with the headiness of having Tonks’ body pressed to hers, lithe and strong. She felt for sure that the other woman could feel her heart hammering wildly behind her ribs as she closed her eyes in bliss, returning the hug and unconsciously spreading her fingers out on Tonks’ back. 

Tonks purred, a sound that Hermione felt more than heard. “Thank you,” The older witch whispered earnestly into Hermione’s ear, before she placed a searing, delicate kiss on Hermione’s throat.   
Hermione gasped, heart in her gullet, as Tonks pulled out of the embrace and locked eyes with her. The older witch moved towards the door, sending one last wink her way before she slipped out, and was gone.

Hermione stood, dizzy and consumed with liquid desire. 

She really needed to go and read some more books.


	6. Tea and Talks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!  
> I hope you are all enjoying this, I think you will like where this chapter ends ;)
> 
> Keep the reviews coming! And the usual disclaimers apply.

The entire next day was spent removing a large, purple encrusting mold from an abandoned linen closet on the first floor that hissed at whomever walked by. The knowledge of Harry's Ministry trial the following morning hung over Hermione, Ron, and Harry as they scraped and pried at the crust, which growled and tried to crawl sluggishly into the corners.

Hermione kept stealing glances at Harry, trying to ascertain his stability. Ron had whispered to her that morning that Harry had tossed and sweated all night, plagued by nightmares. She sighed and briefly massaged her forehead, thinking back to her own restless night; Ginny had retired to bed with hardly a word, leaving Hermione to stare resolutely at the chipped plaster wall, stubbornly fighting the urge to touch the spot on her neck where Tonks' lips had set her skin alight. By the time dawn had broken, she had been so worked up she didn't know if she wanted to cry, get angry, or run down the hall and crawl into the other woman's bed. Either way, Tonks hadn't made an appearance yet, presumably she was holed up in her room working on Order business, and Hermione desperately wanted to see her.

"You alright?" Ron was looking at her quizzically, a crumb of mold slowly edging its way across his cheek.

Hermione attacked the mold viciously, "I'm just –chip- fine –crack- Ron." Just for good measure she shot him a look, one of the ones that made Ron look like he had just been forced to cuddle with an Acromantula.

Harry wrenched a large chunk off the wall and dropped it into his bucket, peering moodily at them from behind his bangs. He hadn't said a single word all day.

So, the day progressed. Hermione's heart leapt into her throat every time someone came down the stairs. Harry continued to brood so deeply that snowflakes dusted the floorboards around his knees as he hacked at the mold. Ron, tight-lipped and pale, tentatively tried to start a conversation, glancing from one glowering face to another, before retiring into silence.

Hermione's mind was whirling. The memory of Tonks' body pressed against her, and the touch of those lips on her pulse-point, were dogging her thoughts relentlessly. Her skin felt sensitive, like her nerves were straining to pick up the other woman's presence, and it was driving her mad. She wished Tonks' would come out of her room, she just needed to see her; hear her voice, be near her. She was craving her, craving that smell, that touch, those eyes.

She wanted.

When Tonks didn't show up at the supper table either, Hermione finally gave in and made an excuse to go upstairs; but when she found herself standing in the hallway, staring at Tonks' door with her heart pounding horridly, she couldn't knock. What in Merlin's name was she doing? What would she say? Maybe she should have brought up a plate of food, at least then she would have an excuse to be there besides "Hey, will you hug me again?" Maybe the older witch had been in her room all day because she didn't want to see her.

"Tonks is really awesome, you know." Hermione whirled around to find Ginny standing in the hall behind her.

Hermione cleared her throat and habitually smoothed the front of her shirt, trying to formulate a coherent response, but Ginny walked towards her and put her hand on Hermione's arm

"For the record, I think you two would be really good for one another." Ginny said. Hermione pulled back, planning to laugh disbelievingly and say something witty, but when her eyes met Ginny's, her stomach flipped and reality hit her gut like a brick.

Ginny's hand tightened on her arm as she exhaled heavily and closed her eyes, shoulders slumping.

"Come on, I'll get some tea and we can talk." Ginny said, as she gently guided Hermione into their room, and closed the door behind them.

They talked for hours, sitting side-by-side on Hermione's bed, drinking cup after cup of tea. Hermione railed, gesticulated, cried, whispered, and paced while Ginny listened. At the end, Ginny drained her last cup of tea and set the mug on the side table, then gently slid her legs out from under Hermione's head, removed the other witch's shoes and shocks, and pulled a blanket over her, before clicking off the lights and falling face-first into her own bed.

Hermione awoke, brushed her hair out of her eyes, and sat up. The darkness of the room disconcerted her; hadn't she fallen asleep with the lights on? And why was she still in her clothes? What was that noise? She paused, listening intently. When the sleepy fog in her brain finally cleared, she realized she was hearing muffled music. The conversation with Ginny slammed back into her conscious, her heart leaping into her throat.

Tonks. She needed to see her.

She threw back the covers and slipped out the door, padded right up to Tonks' door -where light still shown around the frame- and knocked. Only when she heard the creak of bed springs and the pad of bare feet approaching the door did her heart stop.

As the knob turned, she very nearly turned and bolted back to her room, but then there was Tonks, clad in a crumpled black racerback and plaid sweatpants, tousled pink hair and sparkling eyes.

Hermione's gaze was glued to the other woman's lips, which were moving, saying something, but it was lost to her as the air rushed in her lungs, filling her, making her lightheaded.

She needed.

Stepping into Tonks' space, she threaded her fingers into the warm, smoky witch's hair and pulled her close, bodies touching, and kissed her.


	7. Tobacco, Beer, and Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!  
> Please enjoy and Read & Review!

Kissing Tonks was the most terrifyingly visceral thing she had ever experienced.

For half a second, Hermione thought Tonks was going to push her away; the older witch's body had been stiff in surprise, reeling back slightly at Hermione's sudden invasion of her space. But then Tonks' hands had come up to cup Hermione's hips, and she was suddenly the one being kissed, with her back pressed firmly against the doorframe. Tonks had been drinking fire-whiskey, the previously reviled taste now making Hermione shudder, a consuming heat settling low in her stomach.

Just as Hermione was tightening her grip on Tonks' hair, which was literally beginning to curl between her fingers, Tonks gently pulled back, breaking the kiss. Hermione could feel the other woman's breath caressing her cheek, the smell of fire-whiskey and Tonks' skin making her knees weak, but as she slowly raised her eyes to look into the other witch's swirling dark eyes, the air was stolen from her lungs.

She had just kissed Tonks.

Fuck.

Tonks didn't look angry though.

"Hermione Granger, you surprise me." Tonks' voice was rough, so low in her chest that Hermione felt the words vibrate against her own.

She couldn't speak, her lungs were so constricted with panic. She managed to nod her head, her eyes once again glued to the other witch's lips. She couldn't meet Tonks' eyes, they burned with something that made her body ache in a completely overwhelming way.

Tonks gently let go of Hermione's hips and stepped back, leaving her leaning heavily against the doorframe. Tonks' chuckled, glanced quickly down the dark hall and ran a visibly shaking hand through her hair –now a startlingly bright shade of pink-.

Hermione watched her from under her lashes, a swarm of butterflies beating their wings against her ribcage. She felt incredibly vulnerable, and closed her eyes tightly, fighting back the prickle of tears.

A warm hand gingerly brushed the hair from her face and cupped her cheek, and Hermione leaned into the touch, desperate for reassurance.

"Want to come in?" Tonks asked. Hermione slowly opened her eyes to find the other woman smiling warmly. The butterflies in Hermione's stomach calmed a little and she nodded her head mutely. It was unbelievable how badly she wanted to fall into that smile.

Hermione followed Tonks into the room and perched nervously on the edge of Tonks' bed, where a nest of pillows and blankets was surrounded by a ring of parchment maps, letters and scrawled lists. Tonks' wand, a bottle of amber liquid, a mug, plate of toast and a cracked ink bottle sat on the bedside table, illuminated by the candles on the table near the window. The small radio on the windowsill was on, the volume too low to catch the lyrics to the song.

She was trying her hardest to sit straight and steel herself for a long "careful let-down" speech. After all, Tonks was older than her, and an important Order member. No matter what she thought she had seen in Tonks' eyes after the kiss, she was sure she had been mistaken.

Tonks sat down next to her and took a sip from the bottle, offering it to Hermione. In any other situation, Hermione would have vociferously declined, but the game had changed and she no longer knew the rules, so she took the bottle and gently sipped, the fire whiskey burning her throat.

Scratching her nose idly, Tonks turned to Hermione, "Do you make a habit of kissing people at one in the morning?" Tonks' demeanor was light and teasing, the mischievous twinkle returning to her eyes in force as Hermione stared dumbly at her. "I mean, I'm really not complaining, though the thought of who else you might be kissing" –Hermione smacked Tonks on the arm, hard-"is a bit concerning, considering the company in this house."

Hermione smacked Tonks' arm again, and stood, her face flushed with indignation. She didn't know if the other woman was making fun of her or not, but she couldn't stand for it. "I do not go around kissing people. In fact, I don't kiss people in general so whatever you may be thinking about me-"

Tonks sat up and grabbed Hermione's hand, suddenly earnest. "No Hermione, that's not it."

Hermione folded her free hand across her chest, protective. "Then what did you mean?" she inquired guardedly.

Tonks folded Hermione's hand in both of hers, warm and safe. "I was just surprised, Hermione. And you were so anxious, I was trying to tell you that I wasn't angry."

Hermione glared at the other woman, reluctant to let it go, but when Tonks stood and opened her arms in invitation with her eyes once again open and bottomless, Hermione couldn't help but sigh and step into the embrace, her head coming to rest on Tonks' shoulder. With Tonks' arms around her, all of the clamoring in her brain ceased. There was no Voldemort. There was no war. Only Tonks.

"I really liked it." Tonks whispered, tucking Hermione even further into the embrace, "I mean, really liked it." The heat in Tonks' voice made Hermione flush; when Tonks placed a kiss on the top of her head, it felt like all the bones had been jinxed from her knees. "Does it bother you, that I'm a woman?" Tonks asked.

Hermione paused for a second. She could already sense that these feelings for Tonks were not going to disappear in a few days, like she had originally thought. But did it bother her? She was uneasy, but it was more directed at the situation in general than Tonks' sex. She shook her head 'no.' Even if she was a bit thrown-off, she would figure it all out.

Tonks pulled back, looking Hermione in the eyes, "Even so, no pressure okay? I really like you, but this is absolutely in your control. Whatever you want this to be."

Hermione brushed her hair behind her ear, feeling shy and a bit overwhelmed. What in Merlin's name was she going to tell Harry? And Ron. Oh Merlin, Ron…

Tonks disengaged from the embrace and picked up her wand, flicking it in the direction of the radio to change the song; she then began shuffling all of the papers on the bed into a pile, leaving Hermione staring at the sensual flex of the muscles in Tonks' back.

Suddenly Hermione realized that she recognized the song that was playing. "Really? The Indigo Girls?" "Kid Fears" was playing, a song she had heard on the Muggle radio while in the car with her parents.

Tonks smirked over her shoulder as she ambled to the desk and deposited the papers, "Oh hell yes, I love 'em. You wouldn't believe who introduced me to them though." Tonks was laughing to herself, clearly anticipating the big reveal.

Hermione once again sat down on the bed, this time making herself comfortable among the pillows, which wafted delicious clouds of scent that made Hermione want to burrow into them. "Who was it?" Hermione obliged, interested.

Tonks turned to the bed, but got her foot caught in the pile of clothes spilling from her trunk and tripped, catching herself before her knees hit the floor. She looked so sheepish, wiping her dusty hands on her PJ pants and rolling her eyes that Hermione giggled. Completing her journey to the bed, she crawled up next to Hermione and pulled the satin sheets over her legs.

"I first heard this song in the office of Minerva McGonagall, my third year at Hogwarts" Tonks drawled. "She had dragged me into her office after catching me for the millionth time using my morphing abilities to get up to no good."

"But, you were in Hufflepuff, right? Why was Professor McGonagall disciplining you?" Hermione inquired, her brows furrowed with interest.

"Well, for one thing, Minerva knows a thing or two about transfiguration" Tonks teased, making Hermione color prettily. Tonks took Hermione's hand, squeezing gently before she continued. "After watching me fumble my way through two years, and for the most part making a fool out of myself, she took somewhat of a special interest in me. Told me off so bad that first night, for being such a git with my ability, that I thought I was going to get expelled. Turns out she just wanted me to get my head out of my arse." Tonks chuckled. "I was the only metamorphmagus at Hogwarts, for the most part none of the students had ever met one and of course there was the usual mix of fascination, fear and stupidity that gathers around that sort of thing."

Hermione's brow furrowed even further. "You mean, you were bullied?" She asked.

Tonks shrugged, "A bit. Some of it was warranted; I really was a git back then. But I don't know, some of it stung. I didn't have a lot of friends, people were suspicious. The girls hated me, because I could just up and change my appearance whenever I wanted, and the boys either thought I was weird, or wanted to be around me because I could morph. Which was just creepy."

Hermione huffed in disgust. "The utter stupidity of people…"

Tonks once again shrugged. "I don't know, as I said, some of it was warranted. During my later years at Hogwarts I can't deny that I occasionally used my ability to my advantage. Use your imagination Hermione, if you can think of it, I probably did it." Tonks said flippantly at Hermione's sharply quirked eyebrow. "But I haven't used it that way in a long time. Minerva took me in, told me I could become an Auror, and helped me stop being an idiot. It was her suggestion, actually, to get the tattoos. At that point I was so pissed off all the time I was in danger of actually getting expelled. Luckily I managed to get my shit together by fifth year, and did well on my O.W.L.'s and the rest is history. But I did first hear the Indigo Girls in her office."

Tonks gazed lovingly at Hermione, who yawned widely, covering her mouth with a modest hand. Quickly, before Hermione's eyes opened from the yawn, Tonks swooped in and kissed her, the momentum carrying them both down to lie on the bed, with Tonks' torso lying heavily on Hermione's chest.

Hermione couldn't help it, a low moan rumbled in her throat as her body arched instinctively into Tonks' weight, a molten ache settling between her thighs, making her roll her hips, legs pressed tightly together. Tonks' elbows were on either side of her shoulders, she felt overcome, held, putting 'vulnerable' in a whole new, exposing light.

Tonks bit Hermione's lower lip lightly between her teeth, and made that same purring noise she had made when they hugged the night before. They lay there, both panting heavily, inhaling each other's air, the inches between their lips crackling with need.

But not tonight.

Hermione ran her finger tips over Tonks' lips, anxiously clinging to the moment. She knew that once she left the sanctuary of Tonks' room, all of the clamor in her brain, all of the complications, all of the worries, would come flooding back. She worried that reality would get in the way of –everything-.

"I should get to bed." Hermione whispered, the anxiety leaking into her voice.

Tonks nodded, still breathing hard, but suddenly climbed over Hermione and off the bed to shuffle through her trunk. Hermione sat up, fixing her hair and watched as Tonks found what she was looking for and came back, holding a shirt out to Hermione.

As Hermione took it and looked at it –it was her Twisted Sisters T-shirt-, Tonks leaned in and whispered in Hermione's ear.

"This will not disappear with the dawn."

Later, when Hermione was back in her own bed, with Ginny's snores to keep her company, she held the soft fabric of the shirt to her nose and inhaled, Tonks' subtle concoction of smells lulling her into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	8. Girl-Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello All!
> 
> Thank you so much for your positive reviews of this work, as usual I own nothing and I hope that all of you read and review! Let me know what you love and what you don't :) Please no flames though

When Hermione awoke the next morning, Ginny was sitting cross-legged on the end of her bed, smiling over the rim of a steaming mug of tea. Tonks' shirt was still clutched possessively against Hermione's chest.

"What's that?" Ginny asked, her smirk giving away that she knew perfectly well what it was.

Hermione sat up, blushing furiously.

"Tell me. Everything." Ginny settled herself further onto Hermione's bed, eagerly sipping her tea. A similar mug sat on the bedside table.

Hermione's brain finally clicked into gear. "Wait, has Harry already left for the -?"

Ginny's eyes widened, and she silently flailed a hand at Hermione, hissing between her teeth. "Yes, he's left. Everyone is in a right state, and I don't want to think about it. Distract me." She demanded, a small wave of tea sloshing onto the quilt. When Hermione didn't immediately launch into a play-by-play, Ginny sighed and set down her tea, taking Hermione's hand in hers. "I heard you leave the room last night, and mom says that Tonks looked really tired at the breakfast table this morning. Apparently she even begged off doing night-duty tomorrow night. Did she kiss you? Was it awesome?" She whispered, leaning closer.

Hermione fumbled for words, avoiding Ginny's eyes. After a few false starts she exhaled loudly and shielded her eyes, a rosy smirk overtaking her tight-lipped expression.

"Actually, I kissed her." Hermione mumbled, fighting back a giddy laugh that was trying to bubble from her chest.

As Ginny whooped with glee, Hermione tucked Tonks' T-shirt under her pillow, smiling inwardly at the flutter of butterflies in her gut. She knew she should be downstairs, joining in the anxious vigil that was undoubtedly occurring in the kitchen, but she desperately wanted to have this moment with Ginny. Occasionally it was nice to not be "one of the boys." Settling further into her blankets, she picked up the mug of tea on her nightstand and recounted for Ginny what had happened in Tonks' room the night before, with a few of the most blush-worthy details left out.

"So, are you two going out now?" Ginny asked.

Hermione paused, her mug halfway to her lips. "I –I have no idea. I don't think so? I mean, with You-Know-Who and everything, and the Order. I mean, we're all going back to Hogwarts soon." A distressing thought popped into her head, "Ginny, please don't tell anyone. I mean anyone. I don't know if this would get Tonks in trouble. And your mom would have a heart attack." Hermione stumbled to a halt. "Oh Merlin, your mom would have a heart attack."

Ginny squeezed Hermione's hand, "I won't, it's between you and Tonks, really. But, are you going to tell Harry and Ron?"

Hermione choked on her tea, "NO, absolutely not. They would be insufferable."

Ginny nodded, a smirk stealing onto her face, "So, a woman, huh? That must be rather mind-boggling. Unless you have known -?"

Hermione shrugged, not exactly sure how to respond. She had gone out with Viktor, but it was mostly out of spite. Viktor had been large, quiet, and unquestionably manly in a way that assured the boys' silence on the matter for at least another year. Kissing him had been bearable, at its best only mildly tingle-worthy; kissing Tonks had been like being set on fire.

"What about sex?" Ginny suddenly said, absent-mindedly considering the tea leaves at the bottom of her mug.

Hermione blanched. "Why? What about it? I don't even know if Tonks would want to. Surely she would. I don't know. At some point." She tucked her hair behind her ear, not meeting Ginny's curious eyes. "I have read books you know." She firmly stated.

Ginny, eyebrow arched, considered.

The sound of the front door opening, followed by voices raised in apparent revelry, cut the heady silence from the lower floors. At the sound of Mr. Weasley's voice, Ginny and Hermione leapt off the bed, eager to hear the verdict of Harry's trial.


	9. Hermione Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual I own nothing, but I imagine that a few of you have been waiting for a chapter like this!  
> Also, please note that I am in fact a woman AND a lesbian who is over the age of 21 so I DO know something about this stuff.  
> Please read and review!

Ginny's almost-convincingly-innocent utterance of the word "sex" –in connection with Tonks- left Hermione glass-eyed and distracted the rest of the day. The memory of Tonks' weight pushing her into the mattress, pining her, stealing the breath right from her chest, and that wildfire-heat, curling and licking at that deep place in her belly, tightening in a way that not so much hinted as screamed exactly where she really needed Tonks to be.

And that had just been kissing. Some more –advanced- kissing, for sure, but nonetheless, not even a shirt had come off.

Hermione would have given almost anything just for the chance to see Tonks' smile that day, but unfortunately she was out on Order business all day, and wasn't due back until late that night. After spending the day furthering Molly's vendetta against the House of Black with Harry and Ron, Hermione settled on the massive tattered couch in the study, proclaiming loudly that she wanted to get some reading done; in all reality, she just wanted to wait up for Tonks. She felt rather foolish, as the large mantle-clock ticked away the minutes, like she had turned into one of those squealing, love-deranged girls that she detested listening to in the Gryffindor common room. But she sat and waited all the same, as the clock slowly ticked her into an unwilling sleep.

Hermione dreamed. A warm hand cupped her hip, swirls of color disappearing up the wrist as the fingers caressed her skin, pulling her gently back to rest against the swell of small breasts, Tonks' soft lips touching the sensitive place behind her ear, making her arch her back and reach to thread her fingers eagerly into sweat-spiked pink hair. She could see their breath, though it wasn't cold, swirling in the air like smoke, obscuring their forms as Tonks' hand slipped into the front of Hermione's jeans.

"There you go, love. I got you." Tonks' voice was thick, husky, dripping. Hermione leaned further back into Tonks' arms, reveling in the strength of the other woman's body, yearning to turn around so she could see her, tease her, make her cheeks flush and her breath hitch. She could feel Tonks' nipples hard against her shoulder blades. She wanted to feel them on her tongue. Tonks bit down hard on Hermione's pulse-point, the hot flow of blood freed from her skin mirroring the aching wet between her thighs. She felt no pain, in this dream, only Tonks, whose fingers had found her clit, the swirling center of her ache. Hermione moaned deep in her chest, turning her head to bury her nose in Tonks' neck, the smells of tobacco and beer and sweat and fire and –wet- urging her to push her hips into Tonks' hand. More pressure. More contact. More.

"I got you." Tonks' voice was barely audible, the words slipping into Hermione's ear like silk, like the words were one with the liquid feel of Tonks' fingers sliding down, down, down to play at her core, fingertips barely pushing at her. Her nerves were raw, so sensitive and alive that the smallest pressure sparked stars in her vision. She was wound up so far she didn't know if she could come down, she didn't know how, was completely lost in the clench of her belly, the strain for contact, the run of cum down her thighs, pooling in the cup of Tonks' palm.

Tonks' fingers pushed past her, into her, cut her open. "Come to me, love. Come to me." Tonks purred, moving mountains with the slightest curl of a finger, pushing back against the strain of Hermione's need, and Hermione came to Tonks, screaming, and Tonks caught her.

Hermione snapped awake. Crookshanks had jumped on her and was now busily kneading a spot on her jeans, his claws sinking painfully through the fabric to catch at her skin. Shooing him away, Hermione sat up and impulsively ran her hand through her hair, blushing fiercely with the memory of her dream, and the feel of incredibly damp knickers. She must have been asleep for a few hours; someone had thrown a blanket over her and the sky was beginning to lighten behind the thick velvet curtains, bathing the room in cold light. Settling back on the couch, she pulled the blanket higher, intending to get some more sleep, but when something much larger than Crookshanks shifted on the far end of the couch, she sat up. Fast asleep on the other side of the couch was Tonks, sound asleep with her knees against her chest, toes sticking out of holes in her mismatched socks, wrapped tightly in her heavy cloak.


	10. Ginny Doesn't Want Rumors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keeping it short and sweet!
> 
> I own nothing.
> 
> Please read and review! 
> 
> I'm a lesbian, over the age of 21, I know what I'm talking about, don't hate :)

That morning Hermione learned the first rule of flirting with Aurors: Awaken with care.

When Hermione kneeled down next to Tonks, she noticed that her hair was tinted more towards auburn, her angular features relaxed in sleep, before she reached out and touched the sleeping witch's shoulder where it curved under the wrapping of her cloak.

Tonks came off the couch like she was spring-loaded, knocking Hermione backwards onto the carpet with a feral growl. Hermione squeaked as Tonks landed fully on top of her, knocking the breath from her lungs. One of Tonks' hands held the back of Hermione's head, a near-caress, if not for the wand jammed into the crease of Hermione's neck. Hermione's heart hammered fit to burst her chest.

The two witches stared at one another. The clock ticked once, twice, three times, then Tonks scrambled off Hermione, sitting down hard with her back to the couch. She was pale and shaking as Hermione sat up, a hand to the spot on her neck where Tonks' wand had been pressed. If Tonks had been a real threat, Hermione wouldn't have even had the time to reach for her wand. It had never been more apparent to her that there was a big difference between knowing spells, and being capable, and willing, to use them.

"Have you ever killed someone?" Hermione blurted, before her brain caught up with her racing heart. "Oh Merlin, don't answer that. It's none of my business. I'm so sorry, I didn't think. I'm sorry" Hermione moved to rise, embarrassment and adrenaline making her pale cheeks splotched with red.

"Come here." Tonks said. Hermione met the other witch's eyes. Tonks' face was pale, but her strikingly-blue eyes were pleading, her mouth set in a slim effort at a smile. When Hermione turned and moved to sit on the carpet next to her, she shook her head and spread her legs, patting the floor between them. The gesture drew a small smile from Hermione, as well as a warm flush when her dream popped back into her head. "Two, both Death Eaters." Tonks muttered, once Hermione had settled with her back to Tonks, the older witch's arms wrapped tightly around her. Hermione was quiet. "If it makes it any better, they were both trying their best to get me at the time. One of them nearly did. That scar on my collarbone, I mean, as an Auror-"

Hermione turned in Tonks' arms and placed a finger to her lips, silencing her. "Please, you don't have to." she whispered, barely loud enough to hear. Hermione felt unsteady, fractured, like she was in danger of floating away. Her passion for learning, Hogwarts, the war, You-Know-Who, the Aurors, her and Harry and Ron; it had all just clicked. The future career she had always envisioned for herself, the safe life in academia after graduation from Hogwarts, the whole point of going to Hogwarts and learning magic, had just been slapped down, replaced by that gut-wrenchingly violent gesture from Tonks, the woman who she desperately wanted to kiss; the same woman who knew there were people who would kill her in her sleep, if they had the chance.

Tonks saw the desperation flickering in Hermione's eyes and immediately pulled her closer. She kissed her, gently at first, almost chastely, with her fingers caressing Hermione's cheek, but Hermione needed more. She needed to erase the sense-memory of being terrified of Tonks; needed to bury it; burn it; override it.

Hermione turned and straddled Tonks' lap, reveling in the feel of her thighs framing the other woman's hips. Tonks was wide-eyed and flushed, her hair turning from pink to red as Hermione wound her fingers into the short strands of hair at the nape of Tonks' neck and pulled her close for a searing kiss.

When Tonks moaned so deep in her chest that it was nearly a growl, Hermione lost her breath. When Tonks' hands came to rest on Hermione's hips, sliding briefly over her ass before slipping her thumbs under the edge of her shirt to tease at the skin above the waist of her jeans, Hermione lost control of the kiss. When Tonks pushed back, forcing their chests flush against each other, and bit gently on Hermione's lower lip, Hermione lost control of her vocal chords, moaning breathily against the other woman's mouth. When Tonks suddenly pulled back and locked eyes with her, her eyes so dark blue they were nearly black, as she smirked and dug her nails into Hermione's hipbones, holding the younger witch in place as she purposefully rolled her hips up against Hermione's sex, Hermione lost her mind.

To hell with everything and everyone. To hell with Harry and Ron and Hogwarts and the Order and You-Know-Who. Hermione yanked her shirt over her head, the small part of her brain that was still functioning crying in pain that the bra she happened to be wearing was plain and probably overdue for a wash; but with Tonks' hands firmly cupping her ass and her teeth dug into her shoulder, all Hermione could do was reach between them and tug wordlessly at the hem of Tonks' sweatshirt.

Tonks kissed her insistently, shrugging out of her sweatshirt and throwing it behind them onto the couch. When Hermione reached for the hem of Tonks' thermal, Tonks gently grabbed her hand.

"I'm not wearing a bra." Tonks whispered into Hermione's ear, her hands sliding up Hermione's stomach to run her fingertips over the swell of Hermione's breasts.

The touch was intoxicating, she could feel her clit throbbing painfully against the seam of her jeans; her mind wandered to whether Tonks' body was as ready as hers. "Really don't care" Hermione managed to hiss as Tonks sunk her teeth into her collarbone, answering Hermione's question with another insistent roll of her hips. "Like, I really don't care." Hermione insisted.

Tonks smiled against Hermione's lips, tightening her hold on her ass briefly before breaking the kiss and slowly pulling her thermal over her head.

Hermione couldn't decide what she wanted to do first; trace the lines of color with her tongue that looped over Tonks' shoulder and spilled down between her breasts; play with the captivating ice-blue metal rings that pierced her nipples; or wipe that teasing smirk off Tonks' gorgeous face with another consuming kiss. The older witch's head was cocked to the side, the sparkle in her dark eyes revealing the obvious pleasure she was taking in Hermione's glazed-eye stare.

Hermione's heart fluttered, somehow feeling like she was the one being exposed, made vulnerable. She was on top, but it was Tonks who had control, and Hermione realized that she was more than fine with that. She had a form of trust in this clumsy, wild metamorphmagus that was unique to her and her only. Their eyes were locked, heavy and electric, as Tonks wrapped her arms around Hermione's waist, pulling her flush against her naked chest. Hermione wound her arms around Tonks' neck, their foreheads coming to rest against each other, the tips of their noses just touching. Tonks' breath was warm on her lips. Hermione couldn't help but grin.

Both of them jumped, hearts in their throats, when Ginny suddenly rounded the corner into the study, bare-footed and wearing nothing but a faded blue bathrobe.

"Oh! Merlin-" Ginny turned her eyes to the ceiling, looking anywhere but at Tonks and Hermione, her cheeks flushed. Hermione couldn't help but cover herself, even though Ginny had seen her in less than her bra; Tonks didn't appear to give a damn who saw her shirtless. Hermione spluttered, attempting to cover her chest, climb off Tonks' lap –which Tonks was avidly attempting to thwart- grab her shirt, and mutter apologies in Ginny's direction at the same time. Ginny flapped her hand in their direction, eyes still averted. "Shut up, just come on, it's almost time for my mom to be up."

Hermione blinked, speechless for half a second before her brain kicked into gear and she grabbed her shirt and stood, a still shirtless Tonks following, grabbing at her hand. "You're really gonna leave me like this?" Tonks was smiling wickedly, almost chuckling, but her eyes betrayed her; she wanted her, bad.

Hermione's belly clenched, she could feel that the skin of her inner thighs was slick under her jeans; she briefly entertained the idea of slipping up into Tonks' room but Molly was too terrifying. She would tear them both to shreds, if she even let Hermione come back to the house. Stepping back into Tonks' arms, Hermione drew the older witch into a desperate kiss; it felt like every drop of her blood had drained into her hips, she was burning alive, couldn't believe that she was about to leave this when all she wanted was to be dragged upstairs and –fucked-. The thought made her gasp against Tonks' lips.

Ginny cleared her throat, almost tapping her foot on the floorboards; "You know, if I get caught down here with you two in this state, who knows what sort of rumors will arise!" Ginny hissed, pulling Hermione out of the embrace and down the hall, carrying Hermione's discarded shirt in a clenched fist.

Tonks groaned low in her throat, leaning against the doorjamb for support as she watched Hermione getting led down the hall. She needed a bath, and a cold one. And a cigarette. She exhaled, rather more shakily than she would like to admit, and ran her fingers through her sweaty hair. Fucking insanity. Hermione. Fucking. Granger. Wet for her. For that matter…Tonks quickly unbuttoned her black cargo pants and stuck her hand down the front. When she pulled out her hand, she peered amusedly at the strings of translucent precum that roped between her index and middle finger. Fucking hell. She was absolutely done for. Sticking her fingers absent-mindedly in her mouth, she turned back into the study and fished her shirt, sweatshirt and wand out from under the couch, knocking her head on a table in the process. A minute later, the muffled crack of someone disapparating was covered by Molly's footsteps heavy on the stairs, heading towards the kitchen, and the start of a new day.


	11. Tension

Hermione would be the first to admit that her cognitive dictionary –and companion thesaurus- was impressive. She was capable of wielding esoteric verbiage like a battle axe, and regularly honed this second line of defense –for when logic failed her- with the help of stacks upon stacks of gloriously dusty volumes. Behind the power of logic and the stronghold of her words, Hermione felt nearly indomitable. It was no wonder then that she found herself staring at the cracked plaster on the wall next to her bed, completely unable to sleep, when the realization hit her that there was only one word to describe her situation, and it was maddeningly elementary.

Tension.

At the breakfast table she stared at Tonks out of the corners of her eyes, breath-taking in her pajamas and rosy bedhead as she chewed toast and chatted with the others in her raspy, inordinately-sexy morning voice. When those deep, radiantly-blue eyes turned on her, she felt like she was melting; literally melting, the sheer number of underwear she had gone through in the days following the night in the study was rather embarrassing. When they managed to sit next to each other at table, they pressed their knees together; Hermione had never spent so much time contemplating the feel of her knee, there were more nerve endings there than she had ever imagined. She had replayed the events of that night over and over in her mind, letting the sensations rush through her system like an IV injection of fire whiskey. There had even been one night when Tonks' phantom-touch had driven her to the bathroom floor, where she had found a quick, violent release with the older witch's shirt clenched between her teeth, muffling her whimpers and filling her head with the heady crux of her craving.

Hermione was not unfamiliar with her body, she was a healthy teenager, with a healthy desire for such activities; what she was not used to was the urgency. It tugged at her gut every time her eyes fell on Tonks. She hadn't just awoken, she had been vivified.

There was but one, glaring problem. Tonks had been sent on assignment with Remus and Kingsley two weeks ago, just four days after the night in the study. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Fred, George and she were scheduled to board the Hogwarts Express the next morning, hence the sunrise staring contest with the wall.

Tension.

There was no way she was leaving 12 Grimmauld Place without seeing Tonks again. She had half a mind to slip into the older witch's room and lay in her bed for a while, but Tonks' scent had long faded from the linens, smoke and fire replaced with gentle, dusty rose. Hermione blushed in the weak morning light at the memory of how many times in the last weeks she had slipped out her bedroom and into Tonks' bed. She had never had the courage to spend more than a few minutes there, the fear of getting caught overpowering her desire to feel close to Tonks. She wondered, as she often did, what it would be like to slip into that warm, comfortable bed when it was occupied.

Hermione turned to face away from the wall, grumbling to herself. Ginny was fast asleep on her bed across the room, arms flung wide, mouth open. Tonks had just –better- get back today. Between her midnight excursions, anxiety, the usual Order business and Harry/Ron drama, she had been sleeping horribly, she could feel a headache just beginning to balloon behind her eyes. Pulling the covers up to fend off the morning chill, she closed her eyes and tried some breathing exercises her mother had taught her after one too many anxiety attacks over school –in third grade-. Within minutes, Hermione's gentle snores joined Ginny's robust chorus.

Prefect. She had dreamed of this moment since her first year at Hogwarts, had planned and worked hard for it, and finally, she held the badge in her hand. She felt elated, but above all she finally felt a little recognized. Of course Dumbledore would bestow on her a Prefect's badge; she had saved Harry's life more than once (by her calculations, at least once a school year) and managed to keep top marks in her classes throughout. It all added up to a Prefect's badge. But Ron? That one confused her, just a little bit. And Harry…well, he had been sulking and irritable since they had unwrapped the badges that morning.

Mrs. Weasley was busy in the kitchen, whipping up a dinner for an impromptu celebration with the help of Ginny, while Ron gushed to anyone who would listen about his new broom. Boys and their brooms…Hermione rolled her eyes; she had never enjoyed flying, though the memory of Tonks swaggering into the kitchen with her broom over her shoulder, cheeks flushed from the cold and hair wind-whipped, could possibly cause her to reconsider her view on the activity. She, on the other hand, was busy checking out her new school books on her bed; it was her usual practice to at least read the first three chapters of each text before the first day of school –when she was feeling particularly ambitious, she read the entire thing-. Her mom had often said that she had an anxious nature, but Hermione preferred to think of herself as panoptic.

A swell of noise from downstairs made Hermione jump, excitement roaring in her veins at the possibility of Tonks' return. She was in the middle of a head-long sprint for the door when a crack erupted behind her; she spun to face the room, hand to her hammering heart; and there was Tonks, all wolfish grin and unfathomable eyes. In three strides she had Hermione pinned against the door, stealing her breath with a scalding kiss. Hermione whimpered, burying her fingers in the front of Tonks' cloak as her knees turned to water.

Tonks withdrew a few inches, panting heavily through a bordering-on-goofy smile. Her eyes were light purple, sparkling like an amethyst. "Miss me?" Her eyes crinkled in a grin, "Prefect."

Hermione slapped Tonks' arm, open-mouthed with elated disbelief. As Tonks enveloped her in a blanketing hug, Hermione buried her nose in the taller witch's neck and inhaled deeply; as that scent hit her brain, every hair on her body stood on end, and the ball of lead in the pit of her stomach unfurled.

She had made it, and her tension eased.


	12. Behave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! I am SO sorry that this has taken me so darn long to update….things have been CRAZY! But, maybe I will be able to finish this story in peace.
> 
> Thank you all for being so loyal and lovely. Kuddos all around!
> 
> I hope you enjoy, the usual disclaimers apply.
> 
> The beginning section is not mine; it belongs to JK Rowling. This is actually the original passage that got me thinking about this pairing…and started it all!

Ron and Hermione beamed as everyone drank to them and then applauded.

"I was never a prefect myself," said Tonks brightly from behind Harry as everybody moved toward the table to help themselves to food. Her hair was tomato-red and waist length today; she looked like Ginny's older sister. "My Head of House said I lacked certain necessary qualities."

"Like what?" said Ginny, who was choosing a baked potato.

"Like the ability to behave myself," said Tonks.

Ginny laughed; Hermione looked as though she did not know whether to smile or not and compromised by taking an extra-large gulp of butterbeer and choking on it.

Throughout dinner, Tonks had kept a warm, firm hand on Hermione's thigh, the very tip of her index finger tracing lazy patterns on the inside of her knee. By the end of it Hermione felt thoroughly raw, but more than that her impending departure to Hogwarts loomed nearer with every tick of the enormous grandfather clock in the study. She had spent the last two weeks thinking of nothing but having this wickedly flirtatious witch on top of her, kissing her within an inch of suffocating; but now, with Tonks within reach, what she really wanted was more…complicated.

Feelings, Hermione contemplated over her stein of butterbeer, were truly insufferable. Her heart wouldn't slow down, her lungs wouldn't fill, her hair was a barely-controlled hurricane, her underwear were soaked again, and under it all roared the ache in her hips; kind of like menstrual cramps, except completely turned on their head and spun around a few times. In fact it was nothing like menstrual cramps at all. Need. She had never needed anything like she suddenly needed Tonks.

The party had quickly dispersed after Harry's departure and the trouble with the Boggart, leaving Ginny, Hermione, Ron, and Tonks nibbling at the last of the pastries as Arthur cleaned the kitchen. The clock clanged 10:00 inharmoniously, and Tonks stretched languidly.

"I'm knackered, gonna turn in," she yawned, rising unsteadily from the table; as she moved her hair shortened disconcertingly back to its usual inches, though the tomato-red color stayed. "Congrats again on your badges, Ron, Hermione." With a quick wink in Hermione's direction, she swept from the kitchen, cloak over her shoulder and boots in hand. Hermione looked at Ginny, who cocked an eyebrow questioningly with a barely perceptible nod towards the door. An open-mouthed Ron looked back and forth between the two, concerned confusion evident in the crease of his brow and the pallor of his cheeks.

Hermione cleared her throat loudly, "I think I'll turn in too, I have some packing to finish up," she said, rising from the table with a meaningful stare in Ginny's direction.

Ron dropped the biscuit he had been eating, "I can help you if-"

"Tell me more about your new broom, Ron!" Ginny cut in loudly, gripping Ron's upper arm to hold him in his chair. As Ron turned back towards Ginny, the light of a true enthusiast bright in his eyes, Hermione mouthed a silent "Thank you" over Ron's shoulder and slipped out the kitchen door. If the expression on Ginny's face was any indicator, Hermione owed the younger witch a free ghost-write of her first school essay, at the least. The poor girl would probably be there for hours.

When Hermione stepped into Tonks' room, the older witch wasn't in sight. The candles on the desk were lit; Tonks' broom, boots, and knapsack dropped haphazardly in the middle of the floor. Her brow furrowing, Hermione stepped back towards the door, thinking Tonks may be waiting for her in her bedroom, but the open window caught her eye.

Smiling, Hermione padded quietly over, nervously smoothing her shirt, and leaned her head out into the chill night air.

"Hey, you." Tonks' voice was low, warm, and seductive, her accent thick; a bent cigarette already glowed between her fingers. She sat on the metal grating, socked feet dangling over the edge.

Hermione climbed as gracefully as she could through the window and stood, awkwardly tucking her hair behind her ear. "Hey," the word came out breathless, almost a sigh.

Tonks smirked crookedly and patted the grating next to her; when Hermione sat, knees to her chest, Tonks put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, tucking the smaller girl close against her side. Hermione let her eyes drift closed, her head resting easily against the older witch's shoulder.

A light clicked on in the one of the apartments across the alley; inside, a sleep-disheveled woman in a bathrobe yawned lazily. She made microwave popcorn.

Tonks shifted, shaking her head almost imperceptibly, and cleared her throat. "Do you ever miss anything? From the Muggle-world I mean. When you're with all of –she gesticulated at the house behind them- this?"

Hermione, gaze lazily following the Muggle-woman as she went about finding an appropriately-sized bowl for her popcorn, started at the question. No one had ever asked her that. For that matter, no one in the wizarding world seemed to think that there might be something to miss. Except, of course, Mr. Weasley, who treated her entire Muggle-life as some weird freak-show.

That kind of miffed her, now that she thought about it.

"I miss road-trips, and the smell of clothes straight from the dryer." She felt Tonks smile and nod, her cheek pressed to the top of Hermione's head. Encouraged, she closed her eyes and let her thoughts flow. "I miss having electricity everywhere; I miss cooking, I mean –really- cooking, the process of it; I miss fast-food, and normal candy, and soda pop. I never thought I would say this, but Butterbeer gets old. I miss eating a healthy amount of green vegetables; did you notice how few vegetables they feed the students at Hogwarts? That aren't fried? It is pretty deplorable." She paused for breath and Tonks shifted, hunching down slightly so she could nuzzle her nose into Hermione's neck, chuckling lightly. Hermione hummed, enjoying the feel of the witch's nose –and lips- against her sensitive skin. "I miss pens, and pencils, and binder-paper; I miss showers, you have no idea how much I miss showers; and –sometimes- I miss Muggle-school, I miss some of the kids I grew up with." Hermione fiddled with her fingers, falling silent. Tonks' warm hand enveloped hers, squeezing, as a light kiss was pressed to her neck; a shiver rippled down Hermione's spine at the ghosting of warm breath on the awakened nerves. Subconsciously, Hermione's eyes drifted closed, her breath catching slightly in her chest.

"Do you ever see them anymore?" Tonks asked, her tone implying she had mistaken Hermione's continued silence for sorrow.

Hermione cleared her throat, glad that Tonks couldn't see her blushing. "Uh – yeah, I see them. On, holidays, and – such." Even to her ears, it sounded awkward, but Tonks' thumb had started to slide against her palm, random patterns etched in fire on her skin. Hermione's nervous system fizzed happily.

Tonks sat up slightly and met her eyes, brow furrowed in confusion over Hermione's stuttering response. Hermione watched, heart thumping, as the older witch's gaze darted around her features, taking in her pinked cheeks, darkened eyes, and slightly parted lips. Tonks bit her lip, a smirk rising on her face like a tiger rearing from the grass; Hermione's breath hitched, her eyes glued to the spot where Tonks' teeth caught at the soft skin of her lip.

The older witch shifted and gently cupped Hermione's cheek, drawing her gaze to lock with hers. Hermione swallowed hard; there was a question, clear as daylight, in Tonks' azure gaze. The edges of her vision blurred, swirling with smoke; she was zeroed-in, falling forward into Tonks' eyes, her mouth, her scent; time slowed. Finally, Hermione exhaled, and dived in.


	13. Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello All!
> 
> Finally the chapter that all of you have been waiting so patiently for; please let me know what you think and I will update soon!
> 
> Usual disclaimers apply

Hermione would eventually learn, through repeatedly witnessing her fellow Gryffindor's having crack-of-dawn breakdowns in the girls' dormitories, that first-time's rarely go completely as expected. The common romantic fantasies never included, for instance, the edge of terror, and continually failed to mention the gut-wrenching desire to rip your lover to pieces; to claw at their backs and bite, to draw blood, and, finally, press into their chest until their ribs opened up and let you crawl inside. The feeling, Hermione decided later as she lay in bed watching the room slowly lighten with the rising sun, was less rose-petals and sensuous sighs and more…feral; like running as fast as you can down a steep hill. Or nearly getting hit by a bus.

Chuckling inanely to herself, Hermione ran a hand through her hopelessly chaotic hair and contemplated the exact moment when she had realized that Books, no matter how many she had read, could only get her so far. She had been in Tonks' arms, their heated kiss broken just long enough to pull Hermione's shirt over her head, when the backs of her knees had hit the bed and she had fallen backwards onto the quilts. Tonks had stood there for a second, eyes molten and dark as ebony, before that familiar unfettered smile had crept onto the older witch's face and she had pulled her shirt over her head; Hermione's equally blown-out pupils falling immediately to Tonks' bare breasts. Hermione had partially sat up, boldly reaching, eager, but Tonks had laid a playfully-restraining hand on Hermione's collarbone and, winking rakishly, erected a silencing charm –with nothing more strenuous than a twisting flick of her fingers- so strong that Hermione's ears had popped.

Nerves like white-hot bricks had hit Hermione's gut at the display of power, and what the charm itself implied. This was happening. Right now. With Tonks. What should she do with her hands? Should she close her eyes, or keep them open? If they were open, where should she look? Oh Merlin, what underwear was she wearing? But, right at the very precipice of speculative panic, Tonks had placed one warm, calloused hand on her thigh and leaned in, placing searing kisses along her jawline, and Hermione's eyes had rolled back, her racing brain screeching to a breathless halt. With a low moan, she had run her hands up Tonks' sides and up onto her back, mapping the curves of muscle and bone with repetitive urgency and, as Tonks' kisses turned into scattered heady nips along her collarbone, she had screwed up her courage and finally run one trembling hand over Tonks' chest, her thumb playing cautiously with a hardened, pierced nipple.

The effect was hauntingly electric. Tonks, (from her slightly awkward position above Hermione, being only half on the bed, her weight resting on her elbows and one knee placed carefully between Hermione's knees) groaned and shuddered, her hips twitching forward in the mere ghost of a thrust as she had threaded her left hand into Hermione's hair and pulled her into a deep kiss.

Just as Hermione had begun to lose herself in the feel of Tonks' tongue flicking against her own, not to mention the heat building in her belly, the older witch had suddenly pulled back, mumbling a breathy "scoot up;" and Hermione complied, the two witch's only separating far enough to maneuver onto the bed before…

well, at this point it got a little more foggy, Hermione mused, her overstimulated body giving it's best effort at a twitch at the memory of unhooking her bra (Tonks had fiddled blindly with it for almost a minute before giving up) and the feel of Tonks' lithe torso coming into full contact with hers; the smooth warmth, the pressure of the older witch's breasts against hers…she had begun to pant, digging her nails into the muscles of Tonks' back, her head reeling. Tonks had growled, arching into her nails, and locked eyes with Hermione, leaning down to drag her tongue agonizingly slowly over one of her nipples.; and Hermione had begun to tremble, her thoughts spinning too fast for any of them to come clear; all she could do was lie there, her fists balled in the satin sheets as Tonks drove her mad, her eyes never breaking contact.

Her clit had been on fire, her body wound up so tight she was sure she was going to scream, or burst, or claw Tonks into a bloody mass; as if she had read her mind, suddenly Tonks was sitting up, fumbling inexpertly with the button of Hermione's jeans. Without a seconds hesitation, Hermione had swatted her hands away and pulled her jeans off, watching hungrily as Tonks pulled at her own shorts and leggings. Hermione had just enough time to get a moments glance at Tonks' black boy briefs before the witch was pushing her back down onto the bed, this time keeping one strong hand on Hermione's thigh, gently holding her legs open so she could fall between them; and that brick of nerves in Hermione's belly melted, liquefying so fast she had to clench her legs together to keep from falling over an edge she wasn't sure she could return from. But there were Tonks' hips, right there, between hers, holding hers open; and her skin was slick with sweat and her smell was all she could comprehend, and Tonks was kissing her, her weight holding her in place on the sheets and her hands were in her hair and under her back holding her close, and she was shifting, moving, pressing down on Hermione's ache, and they were moving together, grinding slow, and Tonks was moaning, huskily mumbling swear words, speckled with her name, in her ear, and Hermione didn't know if she wanted to rip Tonks to pieces, or love her to death, but a painfully needy (to Hermione's later determination) "Tonks" had slipped over her tongue and out her mouth, which the older witch caught in hers; suddenly Tonks' slender hand was between their bodies, sliding into Hermione's underwear, into soft curls and slick skin and bunched nerves, and Hermione started to tremble, her thighs clenched tight around Tonks' hips, feeling the first flickers of a desperate release building in her deep places.

Breaking their kiss, Tonks had rested her forehead against Hermione's, her fingertips stilling, pressing achingly against the younger witch's entrance. Hermione could feel Tonks trembling, her stomach muscles taut against her belly; when Hermione opened her eyes, she found Tonks' gaze a bottomless amethyst, pupils utterly blown. They had paused there, panting and twitching, straining toward each other without movement.

A strangled "Fuck" had clawed its way from Tonks' throat before, in one fluid motion, she cradled Hermione's head to her shoulder and slid her fingers into the younger witch, her hips bearing up hard against the back of her hand.

Hermione gasped, her cunt twitching at the memory of that first thrust, Tonks' body taut and shaking against hers, need evident in every breathy pant into Hermione's ear. When Tonks had begun to move, a slow rhythm that pressed more than pulled at her sensitive skin, filling her completely, fingertips just touching that sensitive spot deep deep DEEP within her, she had utterly lost control. Curses slipped from her lips, melding with the sounds of their breath and rustling sheets and wet skin as she anchored her nails in Tonks' back and spread her legs further open, giving the older witch deeper access, and with a growl Tonks had taken advantage, her hips grinding harder into the back of her hand, pushing her fingers deeper, wrist twisting slightly with each thrust.

Hermione's brain went utterly blank, swirling with the carnal smell of Tonks and sweat and sex and Tonks. The painful ache in her belly was twisting, swirling with a liquid burn, she could feel herself pulling at Tonks' fingers with each thrust, the pressure in her hips threatening to burst; it was too fast, too soon, too intense, but the heat was screaming to move somewhere, and, Merlin, she needed it to go. Now.

"I'm gonna…" Hermione managed to gasp, her hips falling open in complete surrender to Tonks, who fucked her even deeper still, fingers twisting and pressing into her, winding up to throw her head-long into orgasm.

"Fucking cum for me baby girl" Tonks moaned, her accent thick and heavy, tinged with a desperate pain that sent Hermione spiraling into madness, her chest constricting, breathless, tumbling head-long into an orgasm that curled her body in on itself, forehead jammed against Tonks' neck, mouth open in a silent scream as her cunt convulsed around Tonks' fingers, milking them greedily.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck" Tonks yelled, the words spilling from her mouth as she leaned back to screw Hermione forcefully, pushing back against the smaller witch's twitching muscles, throwing her into a further dizzying height.

Just when she thought she might black out, Tonks' fingers came to a caressing halt, her chest unclenched allowing her to gasp rapaciously for air, and Tonks collapsed on top of her, spent and heaving.

Hermione smiled, her eyes closing in delirious bliss; they had fallen asleep together, slipping into dreamless slumber so easily it had almost been instantaneous. She had woken up a short time later, her head pillowed on Tonks' shoulder. The older witch hadn't stirred when she had sat up, self-consciously pulling the sheet up to cover her bare breasts. Tonks was lost in deep sleep, one arm thrown carelessly over her head, the sheets barely reaching her slim hips; in sleep she looked almost like a boy, her small chest almost nonexistent when lying on her back; Hermione noted with a smile that the older witch didn't bother to shave under her arms. The colorful tattoos on her chest rose and fell hypnotically with her breath, Hermione's gaze drawn to a more careful examination of Tonks' scars, the ghost of muscular definition in her bare stomach, and the angles of her face. Hermione realized with a blush that her own heart was speeding up, tripping to double-time as the full detail of what had just occurred crowded into her chest.

Now, lying in her own bed with the first sounds of people stirring towards wakefulness and their imminent departure for Hogwarts racing towards her, Hermione mused on the nature of need, and desire, and connection, and love. Her Second Thoughts also poked amusedly at the mere fact that she, for the first time ever, wasn't the first one to bolt to wakefulness on a Hogwarts Express morning. She had no idea what the year was going to hold, undoubtedly parts of it would be horrible and stressful and terrifying, there was a war brewing after all. As Molly's footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs to knock them awake, Hermione reached over the side of the bed, her hand burrowing into a carefully folded cloak, smelling of tobacco and beer and fire; she clenched her eyes shut, feeling an unfamiliar mixture of aching sadness and elation that made her eyes prick with tears. She may not have much to hold onto, but what she did have was strong, and undeniably powerful, and breathtakingly beautiful, and Hermione couldn't help but trust in it; trust in her and them and…

"Us" Hermione whispered to herself, as Molly's fist connected with their door, Ginny bolting awake with a snort.


	14. Don't You (Forget About Me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

Hermione had no idea what had come over her, what had made her stand up in class –defy a teacher- even one as deplorable as Professor Umbridge. She could have gotten detention, probably would have if Harry hadn’t gone all Boy-Who-Lived. Hermione made a face at the smoky ceiling of the Gryffindor common room; as if the current situation wasn’t horrible enough without Harry’s sudden…  
”Cantankerousness” She muttered, brushing her hair out of her eyes for the thousandth time that night.  
“What was that?” Ron asked from the ink-smeared depths of his homework mound, which was currently taking up half the couch – and beginning to bleed over into Harry’s similarly tumultuous spread.  
“Nothing Ron” She breathed, not looking up from her unusually messy parchment. She was slumped in her favorite armchair, the one in the corner by the fire with adequate light for reading, and was supposed to be working on a potions essay, but her brain was buzzing. During Umbridge’s class, something had clicked, an interlocking web between Umbridge and the Ministry and Voldemort and the Order and Tonks and sex and that moment in the library when her lover (it still made her blush, even in thought-form) had knocked her flat, wand pressed to her pounding artery.  
Book-learning was no longer enough for her, in fact the situation had progressed to the point where she no longer believed that book-learning was good enough for any of them, and the realization both invigorated her and scared her to the core. Did she even have a core anymore? Without academia, who was she? The time for action was coming, and Hermione suddenly had an overpowering urge to dump her lap-full of books, scrolls and quills to the ground and run upstairs to bury her nose in Tonks’ cloak, which she had carefully stashed underneath her nightstand. Instead, she took a deep, slow diaphragm breath (like her mother had taught her) and found a fresh parchment.  
T-  
I miss you.  
-Hermione <3  
She felt utterly ludicrous, the little scribbled “<3” at the end practically snickering at her as she rolled up the parchment and stashed it in her bag to send in the morning, but somehow it made the churning in her stomach ease a fraction of an inch.

Three days later, Hermione was shaken from a scholarly reverie in the library by the return of the Hogwarts owl she had sent to London, which tapped unceasingly on the window pane next to her head until she figured out how to get the window open. She was puzzled to find no note attached, just a simple package about the size of a billiard ball wrapped in plain brown paper. Quickly, before anyone inconvenient showed up, she unwrapped it to find a small hard ball of swirling violet glass. Curiously, Hermione picked it up just to drop it with a squeak when music began to play; with a hand to her heart she glanced around the room, but no one else seemed to have heard it. With a deep breath, she reached out again to touch the ball; as soon as her finger brushed its surface, low music began to play in her head; the harder she pressed on its peculiarly warm surface, the louder the music got. With wonder, she cupped the ball in her hand and closed her eyes, her other hand rising to cover her mouth in bittersweet shock as she recognized the tune of “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” from the Muggle movie The Breakfast Club. 

The following Saturday morning found Hermione slumped groggily over her hash and eggs at breakfast table. Apparently Fred and George had dissolved an “unexpectedly” strong Fainting Fancy into her drink the night before during the Quidditch team celebration; since she literally had no proof that it was them (except of course the certitude that it had been them) she couldn’t do very much about it; this fact didn’t stop her from glaring knives at the twins over her tea. Harry and Ron were not making too many attempts to include her in conversation, a decision that raised her views of their collective social intelligence by a few marks.  
She had just shoveled the last of her eggs into her mouth when Nearly Headless Nick popped through the toast rack in front of her, making a first-year two seats down scream and drop her pumpkin juice.  
“Professor McGonagall requests your presence in her study, Ms. Granger” Nick proclaimed in an unusually composed tone.  
Hermione starred at his apparition; McGonagall wanted to see her? Now? Merlin, was she in trouble? Did Fred and George finally kill a first-year? On her watch? Would they take her Prefect badge away? In a flurry of movement she gathered her bag, avoiding Ron and Harry’s stunned expressions, and scurried out of the Great Hall.  
At McGonagall’s study door she hesitated, tears beginning to prick the corners of her eyes when her knuckles refused to connect with the wood, her heart pounding so hard in her throat she thought it would burst. Just as she had entirely convinced herself that she was about to get thrown out of Hogwarts for aiding in the poisoning of an innocent first-year, the door swung open to reveal Minerva McGonagall’s severe, yet amused, face. “What are you standing out there for? Come in!” She quipped, holding the door open and ushering Hermione in with a bony hand on her back.  
As soon as Hermione was inside the study, she turned to face McGonagall, trying to look stoic and dignified, even though her ears were buzzing alarmingly and she was pretty sure there was a sock stuffed in her throat.  
Minerva closed the door and turned, catching sight of Hermione’s arduously poised, and markedly breathless, demeanor. “You aren’t in trouble dear, so you can stop looking like that and breath, for goodness-sakes, you have a visitor, and one I believe, if I am not mistaken, you have been missing.”  
Hermione turned woodenly in the direction of McGonagall’s pointed finger, to find Tonks, hair an unusually normal shade of brown though still sticking up in a choppy crewcut, sitting cross-legged on a dilapidated floral-print loveseat, a truly Cheshire-cat smile crowning her steaming cup of tea.  
“Oi love, did you get my gift?”  
Hermione fainted.


	15. Hard Days  Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!
> 
> Sorry for the wonky formatting!

Tonks stumbled into her room, wet to the bone and shaking. It had been ridiculously stupid of her to try to see Hermione, if the Order knew that she had left her post a mile outside of the Hogwarts grounds she would be thrown her out of the Order and be banned from the safe house. She was worried about Hermione, seeing her faint like that had nearly given her a heart attack, but in the commotion she had been able to slip out and high tail it back to her watch without anyone noticing and she knew that Minerva wouldn’t let anything happen to the young witch. 

As soon as she had calmed herself she had headed straight for her favorite tavern, another extremely ill-advised move that had resulted in a flailing dash through an uneven alley way with some Death Eater on her tail; the chase resulted in a broken wrist and a few singed bristles on her broom. The wrist was already on its way to mending, thanks to Mad-eye’s capable, yet undeniably archaic healing skills; her body had other sores though that magic could not quite touch.

Shrugging stiffly out of her new overcoat –red this time, a color to fit the times though it was already starting to show wear at the hems and joints- Tonks bent to undo her bootlaces and nearly toppled over, a rare occurrence only in that it was due to exhaustion, not clumsiness. Her wet pants and over shirt quickly joined her boots in a pile on the floor and she stretched, groaning, her wand stuck jauntily in her sock. Mad-eye would kill her if he saw such a misdemeanor, but at the moment, Tonks couldn’t care less. She saw her wand as an extension of her body, apt to do strange things on occasion that she had little control of, but in general they happened in patterns and could be relied upon to not explode, start fires, or sprout erections at inopportune moments. In only underwear, socks, and tank top the witch poured herself a hasty shot of fire whiskey from the bottle by her bed and downed it, feeling the gentle tickle of her scalp as her hair lengthened slightly and deepened to a dusky pink with heady exhale.

It was getting more onerous out there, You-Know-Who’s henchmen getting bolder. Who knew how long it would be before the Order’s headquarters were discovered and routed out. Tonks shivered and ran her good hand through her hair at the sudden, unstoppable image of an empty spot at the supper table; surely with the storm brewing so heavy it was nearly choking them already, someone would have to slip up? Who would go first?

Banishing the disturbing thought with motion, she grabbed her tobacco pouch and threw open the window, letting the crisp winter air chase the phantoms from her head. For the moment, they were safe. Hermione was safe, probably either already asleep in her bed or, at worst, asleep in the hospital wing. Merlin, it had been stupid to leave her post today, but she had been worried and no one had ever said that she had the best judgment when left to her own devices. As the fire whiskey finally bloomed warm in her stomach, Tonks begun to roll a cigarette, settling with her back to the window frame; yes, Hermione was safe, but she wouldn’t be risking both their necks by sneaking into the grounds anymore. It had been a desperate, foolish move decided much more by her libido than her brain. Standing watch on the grounds with Remus would be the closest she could get; her heart lurched painfully and she lay her head against the wall, releasing the pain with a grateful cloud of smoke towards the stars.

Fuck, her body hurt. Everything hurt, from her thoughts to her heart to her bruised and battered skin. 

She let her right leg dangle out onto the fire escape and closed her eyes, conjuring the feel of Hermione’s hands on her skin, the light tease of the younger witch’s hair on her chest, rose water and book dust filling the spaces between the synapses of her brain. Sighing deep in her chest, she let her cigarette dangle between her lips and carefully pulled her sweat-soaked tank top over her head and dropped it on the floor, running both her hands over her breasts, reveling in the feel of the fresh air. With a whispered word the air around her body warmed and she once again leaned back, lounging in the window frame clad only in her briefs, bell necklace, bracelets, and of course her tattoos. A wicked idea had come to mind, and she was never one to pass up something wicked. With her face tipped towards the moon, eyes closed, a roguish smile on her lips, Tonks let one hand run freely over her skin, touching on muscle and scar tissue alike, circling her nipples with a deft fingertip that made her gasp lightly around her nearly ashed-out cigarette before slithering down and underneath the band of her briefs. 

Just as she felt herself begin to fall between the cracks of reality, her hips barely rocking into her fingers, there was a tentative knock at the door. Growling low in her throat, she threw the cigarette butt onto the fire escape and strode across the room, a short “What is it Remus?” spilling from her lips before the door was fully open. There were a couple seconds of horrified silence, Remus’ mouth opening and closing helplessly, eyes looking anywhere but at Tonks’ nearly naked body; “For fuck’s sake man” Tonks growled, her breasts melting into her body, leaving a muscular, masculine chest, “What do ya want?” Her accent was thick with strain; this was the fourth night in a row that the pup had come whimpering to her door. It would be utterly pathetic if she didn’t like the werewolf as a friend, and feel for his predicament. But still, there were limits, and Tonks had had a very long day. The two stood in silence, Remus’ mouth utterly failing to create sensible words as Tonks’ eyebrows traveled further and further up her forehead in distressed disbelief, the metamorphmagus’ hair darkening like a thunderhead. Tonks snapped out of it first; “Okay Remus,” she said, tight-lipped, placing a gentle hand on Remus’ stiff arm and propelling him in a shuffling circle, pushing his body forward placidly with a flick of her forefinger, “good night.”

Tonks did not hear Remus trying again to knock on the door; she did not hear his confused “Good night Tonks,” or his defeated slog back to his bedroom; as soon as the door was shut she erected a strong silencing charm and, digging underneath her bed, pulled out a Muggle guitar that her dad had given her as a 13th birthday present. Retreating to the fire escape with the bottle of fire whiskey and her cloak wrapped firmly around her, Tonks beat the strings and nursed her aching wrist until her voice cracked under the strain and the bottle rolled empty on the metal grating. You could have hardly called it singing, it was more like yelling, the rhythm broken with missed chords, but it was unstoppable in its passionate fury, and when Tonks finally staggered into bed she slept like the dead.


	16. Five Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!
> 
> This chapter is for any of you who have ever struggled with their body, or wished for just a second that it would do something that it can't. Wouldn't it be nice to be able to just morph when you wanted to?
> 
> Please comment, I appreciate constructive criticism but no flames. Not your cup of tea? That's fine!

The very first heavy snow of the year was just beginning to stick on the fire escape in the cold blue light of predawn when a tattooed arm, sluggish with sleep, snaked out from the plaid quilt on Tonks’ bed and fumbled blindly at the pillows heaped against the headboard. Slowly, with a slight shift of weight, the pillow was dragged underneath the covers, and underneath the dreaming metamorphmagus. Further languid movement, a deep, shaky exhale and a rhythm could barely be made out in the frosty gloom. 

She was barely awake, rolling on the waves of her dreams, warm and hazy and very, very turned-on. With her cheek pressed to the satin of her sheets and the pillow hugged tight to her stomach, Tonks’ brain could almost summon the feel of having Hermione underneath her, but her body remembered, and it knew what it wanted, and it loved to dream with a cock; and so a cock there was, hard, straining against her belly, caught between her flesh and the bunched end of the pillow. Moaning, the witch roused further and shifted to feel herself, breathe forming amorphous clouds in the air, the warmth under the covers smelling of sweat and primal arousal. Slipping easily into the tightness of her fist, her mind drifted back (two months now?) to that ONE night, here in this bed, with HER; she would be tight, as tight as her own fist, and her legs would be spread, thighs clenched around her hips, and Tonks’ aching need would be surrounded, embraced, HELD in that heat; Tonks groaned, panting so heavily that a wet spot was forming on the sheets. Her body ached, and as it awoke it felt like fire raced through her veins alongside her blood, pooling in the space between her hips, in the ache of her cock, in the depth of her belly where she knew a pussy could be if she just grabbed reality by the shirttail and just twisted slightly to the left of the present. It was so easy, so hard to imagine what life would be like stuck in just one form, without any choice of what toys you had to play with. Her flesh was as malleable as mercury, and as she fell into rhythm with that particular flick of her wrist that she loved so much, her hair flushed a deep burgundy red and curled into little inch-high waves, sticking in the sweat on her forehead. She could feel the tension building, filling her gut with white-hot metal flowing like water; her breath came in ragged gasps, head spinning with the blissful sensations that her hand was producing on her need. And Merlin, did she NEED. Needed release, needed to scream, needed to touch, smell, lick HER, push into her with fingers and tongue and cock, ANYTHING. She needed Hermione in a way that bordered on painful, the muffled sounds ripping from her throat at the feel of her slick palm skimming her cockhead a small testament to the torturous fear wiggling under her skin.

Tonks. Needed.

Biting down on her forearm, she curled in on herself, stomach muscles contracting as she hurled herself headlong towards an orgasm that she knew would feel akin to jumping into a fire, her cock feeling like anything but flesh, searing hot to the touch and straining against its own skin, her hand working at the base with hard, even strokes. With a strangled, guttural noise the tattooed witch suddenly came up onto her knees, the sheets falling off her back and pooling at her heels, one hand flinging out to brace against the wall over her bed, the other ready and waiting as, with a closed-mouth cry, she came into her hand, very nearly catching every drop of the clear liquid that spilled from her twitching sex. 

And, even then, with her skin steaming gently in the frigid air of the room, head hanging limp against her heaving chest, Tonks still needed. Needed to not be alone. Needed to know what was going on. Needed to not be sweaty and cold and tired and bruised and surrounded by the dark ancestral anxiety of this house. She needed to not be mopping up another cum stain with a dirty T-shirt. She needed to know whether Hermione was safe. She needed to know that someone in the Order wouldn’t immediately kick her out if they knew who, exactly, was keeping her up at night. 

Tonks didn’t want to think about how slow the last two and a half months had past, or about how the mood in 12 Grimmauld Place was feeling more and more akin to a pipe bomb as the days got colder and the news from Hogwarts got darker. All they knew was that SOMETHING was happening, no way to know what it was without possibly giving themselves up. It was maddening, this waiting and suffering through with only tidbits of half-heard news. The only good thing that had happened was that Remus had stopped coming around her door, but without even his lackluster company Tonks had been left to her own devices. What exactly those devices were could easily be deduced by the small drifts of dirty clothes and discarded projects that surrounded her bed like water around an island. 

Tonks fell backwards on her mattress with a groan, running her hands through her mussed hair and over her face before staring up at the cracked ceiling. She hadn’t even gotten a letter, nothing at all. Maybe the young witch had rethought the whole thing. Maybe she had found someone more suitable for her. Hell, maybe she was too busy with school, or preoccupied by the massive dark cloud of You-Know-Who to be thinking about her. It was all absolutely fucked up, and as Tonks swung her legs over the edge of the bed and reached for her pants, she knew that what as most fucked up of ALL was that the Hogwarts term ended in five days and she was so nervous about seeing Hermione that she was tempted to beg Mad Eye for an assignment. Preferably for the entire holiday break. 

Five days, she could make it, right? She just needed to know. But first, she needed breakfast and at least that could be achieved in short order with minimum fuss. So she threw her cloak on over her last clean tank top and dragged her feet out into the hallway, the errant stain on her sheets slowly cooling in a spot of chilly light. 

Five days.


	17. Just a Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends!  
> I know that it has been a long time; it has been hard to find the time and inspiration to write the last year, but it is slowly coming back to me. Also, the addition of a new laptop has really helped with the writer's block.  
> This chapter has a little bit of angst, but definitely not TOO much, so you are forewarned.  
> PLEASE read and review! I love hearing from all of you.  
> Finally, I own nothing.

A frosty stillness had settled over 12 Grimmauld Place, the snow piling outside the windows muffling the Order into a sleepy hibernation that kept them sequestered in their rooms except for meals, which were becoming grim affairs with the absence of the Hogwarts students. When not on assignment Tonks rarely made it out of her sweatpants, though she was carefully steering clear of the liquid comfort that some of the other members, notably Sirius, were indulging in. Poor Remus had stopped his assault on Tonks’ door in favor of late-night trysts into Mr. Black’s quarters, though Tonks suspected that the drink had more say in that change than any sudden sway of feelings. If Tonks knew one thing, it was that Sirius had no intention of legitimizing their fumblings; Remus would eventually have to come to terms, one way or another, and she wished him the best.

Alone in the dark, curled into a tight ball against the midnight chill, Tonks dreamed of the Hufflepuff common room; a place of light and worldly comforts, the utter opposite of the grim house she despised. She dreamed of a day at the beginning of spring, soft evening light filtering down through the windows, richly embossing the wood panelling and throwing the vines on the windows into neon yellow-green that spoke of rushing sap and new growth; she dreamed of a boy, twirling through the common room on pin-sharp high heels, his robes flapping around his skinny frame like the highest of Paris fashion, a beatific smile on his angular face. That had been a good afternoon, and it had been the first time that Tonks hadn’t felt alone. But, as the big clock in the study struck the hour, the cold and dark spilled into the memory like ink in a bowl of water, and Tonks found herself in a swirl of London mist. The walls of a brick alley rose up on either side of her, a wet gurgling wheeze filled her skull, and Tonks screamed, struggling up out of the dream with a violent heave, until she sat up and choked, gasping for air. Her whole frame shook as if with fever, her tank top soaked and foul smelling; Merlin, what she would do to forget that night, that alley, that horrible sound…

A tentative knock at her door stirred back to the present and she threw the covers off, her heavy cloak winging its way to settle on her shoulders as she padded to the door on bare feet, trying her best to pull herself together. The memory of Vex could wait. Taking one last stuttering breath Tonks pulled open the door and stopped in her tracks, stunned to find Ginny Weasley standing there, eyes red-rimmed and shivering in her pajamas. Tonks’ blood rose in her veins, eyes glued to the younger witch’s mouth; it was obviously moving, Ginny was speaking but Tonks couldn’t hear it over the roar of blood in her ears. Why is she here The hallway was beginning to close in on her Where is Hermione the shadows were growing longer, and Tonks focused on a small tear trickling down Ginny’s cheek Where is Hermione Why was the young witch crying? What’s happened? Where’s Hermione. The rushing in her ears wasn’t ceasing, and Tonks swayed on her feet, the belabored, stertorous breath from her dream rising into her conscious like a bad meal, her mouth filling again with a sickly saliva.

“Where’s Hermione” Tonks blurted out, only fuzzily aware of Ginny’s mumbled monologue. 

Ginny’s puffy eyes screwed up in confusion, “She...she’s still at Hogwarts. Still asleep, I assume. We came so fast, I don’t even really know what’s happened. Harry had some sort of dream? And Dad is hurt…” Ginny’s chin wobbled dangerously; Hermione is safe. Tonks let her brain go into autopilot, grateful for the definitive distraction.

“Hey, Gin, it’s alright, let’s go and figure out what this is all about, yeah?” She murmured, encasing the sniffling witch in a brief hug and turning them both towards the stairs; as the pair descended, Tonks’ breathing leveled out, the shadows finally losing their grip on her chest as the sound of quiet chatter in the study reached them, along with the grateful smell of bacon and eggs. Normal, human noises. Household noises. Tonks was fast enveloped in the news of Arthur’s attack and Harry’s vision, the boy in question curled in silent misery at the far end of the breakfast table. It appeared that Harry, Ron, Ginny, and the Twins had arrived hours before, Ginny only wandering up to her room when the stress of awaiting news had become too much for her. Tonks took note to gently inform the young witch that, in the future, she should be awoken immediately; but with a cup of boiling hot tea in hand and the calming news of Arthur’s health, Tonks stood at the grimy study window and watched the sun rise over the row-house roofs. Was Hermione awake now? Was she wondering where everyone had gone? Ginny had quietly reminded her that Hermione was planning to go skiing with her Muggle parents for the holidays; something that Tonks had conveniently forgotten. Her five-day vigil had extended to 16, and the her heart was just about in her socks.

Not even getting to leave the house to visit Arthur at St. Mungo’s Hospital stirred her from her fog; she couldn’t shake her dream and a headache was throbbing behind her eyes as the Order filed back into the dusty house and finally dispersed to their rooms for some rest. Tonks lagged behind, reluctant to try sleeping again in case that horrible dream returned but too uncomfortable to contemplate a long morning alone in the study; and Christmas alone. Did Hermione’s continued silence mean more than just increased security around the school? Why was she going skiing and not coming to spend Christmas with her? Had she moved on? Forgotten?   
Maybe it was all just a dream she thought as she dragged her sweatpants clad butt up the stairs and back into bed. Maybe she would just sleep through the next two weeks.   
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Hermione stood outside of Tonks’ door, shot to pieces with nerves. Of course she had called off the skiing trip as soon as she heard about Arthur. Of course she had checked in on Harry and the rest before coming to see Tonks. Of course she had also unpacked all of her things and eaten lunch and chatted with Mrs. Weasley and made sure Crookshanks had food and taken a nap and a bath before coming to see Tonks. She wasn’t exactly stalling, she was sure to point out to herself multiple times, but rather giving the older witch ample time to, perhaps, discover her presence on her own. But, it seemed, Merlin was not smiling on her this day; so with a short huff she steeled herself and knocked. She pointedly did not notice that her knuckles tapped on the wood with a noticeable stutter, and smoothing down the hem of her shirt, waited for the sound of footsteps.


	18. Everything Right Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I told you that it wouldn't be too long. As usual I own nothing, and I imagine that a few of you will really enjoy this chapter ;) Please read and review! Nothing makes me happier than a lot of reviews.  
> I am going to be wrapping up this story FAIRLY soon; do not fear, there will be a conclusion and it will be done properly, with a full epilogue, but I am giving all of you warning now. Before the storm hits.  
> With my partner in Asia for six weeks *sigh* I am finding that I have a lot of time to write, so my pain is your gain!  
> Enjoy!

The tentative knock jarred Tonks out of her doze; she had been attempting to finish a report but had, as it turned out, not managed to complete it. She stretched, noticing with a hiss that candle wax had spilled over the parchment while she slept. Lazily picking up the parchment, she rubbed her pointer finger and thumb together and a tiny flame emerging from the junction. The wax was just beginning to drip off the parchment when the second knock, stronger this time, occurred. “Yeah?!” The witch called over her shoulder, eyes glued to her task.  
“Can I come in?” The merest hesitation before Tonks threw the parchment and flung herself towards the door, chair crashing to the floorboards, her hand closing on the doorknob before her feet managed to untangle from her lap blanket. Flailing, she squeaked out a levitation charm, momentum lurching to a halt with her forehead inches from connecting with the door. She hung there, the doorknob clenched in a death-grip over her head, eyes fixed on the whirl of the woodgrain in front of her, until her breath steadied. Planting her feet slowly she straightened, still holding the doorknob, a vicious blush blooming on the back of her neck as she finally opened the door and met Hermione’s sharply inclined eyebrow.  
Silence built like a thundercloud as the two witches stared, Hermione’s eyebrow creeping further and further up her forehead as Tonks’ blush washed over her winter-pale skin; “How, uh…” Hermione stuttered, the younger witches hands slipping into the pockets of her jeans as she shifted, leaning towards Tonks almost imperceptibly. Hermione cleared her throat, “How are you?”  
Tonks’ features had settled into a closed-mouth stare, breath completely held in the ache of processing everything in front of her, and Merlin, was it everything, everything in the entire world; as Hermione leaned in a fraction of an inch, Tonks leapt the remaining gap, dragging the younger witch into an embrace that brought their entire bodies into contact, knees knocking together in the effort to get closer. Hermione barely hesitated before burying her face in the older witch’s neck, both of them squeezing so hard that their breath wheezed.  
Tonks broke the embrace first; “Wha - what the hell are you doing here? I thought you were bloody skiing with your folks?!” She gasped, attempting to both tame her notably disheveled hair and maintain contact with Hermione and ending up looking like she had an itch she couldn’t scratch.   
Hermione laughed, a sound akin to tinkling sleigh bells on Christmas Eve to Tonks, “Woah there. Okay” The younger witch forcibly took Tonks’ hands in hers, instantly stilling her movement. “I came when I heard about Arthur, of course I did! Did you expect me not to?” Tonks eyes darted to her bare feet, her blush rebounding double-force. Hermione sighed heavily and stepped closer, gripping the older witch by the shoulders, “Tonks, I’m sorry I didn’t write back, okay? It’s not because I didn’t want to, it’s just been so crazy at school and I wasn’t sure...after I totally passed out and I didn’t hear from you; I wrote you letters! I just didn’t -send- them.” Hermione paused, aware that her plea was lacking. “Look, Tee, I have this” she gasped, rifling through her pocket and pulling out the smoky violet orb, wrapped in a silk handkerchief, “I carry it with me everywhere. I…” Hermione paused, Tonks’ freckled cheeks causing her tongue to run dry.; she swallowed, “I keep your cloak under my pillow. It doesn’t really smell like you anymore, but…”   
Tonks cut the younger witch off, taking her into her arms with a force as gentle and unyielding as a glacier carving out a valley, bearing her backwards into the wall until their bodies were flush against one another, and watched with utter absorption as a matching blush washed up the younger witches neck, coloring her cheeks. She grinned, “No need for more, love,” she whispered, before bringing their mouths together with a crash.  
Tonk’s body responded with painful vigor, every nerve ending erupting into an uncontrollable flame and she moaned, hands trying to hold, touch, caress, every part of the younger witch at once, as if Hermione was going to disappear if she didn’t act fast; but Hermione’s hands were engaged in the same desperate race, one second balled in her shirt collar, the next in her hair, and the next gripping her ass with white knuckles. With Hermione’s tongue in her mouth, Tonks hooked her hands behind Hermione’s knees and lifted, wrapping her long legs around her waist; staggering slightly, she bore the two of them back into her room and fell forward onto the bed, Hermione squeaking with the drop, eyes wide and sparkling with elation.   
Tonks shifted her weight and Hermione reared up, eyes flashing with startling mischief, and flipped the older witch onto her back, “Not so fast,” Hermione was out of breath as she settled her weight firmly on Tonks hips, straddling her lap, “I never got to touch you, the last time.” Tonks groaned, shivering with a feverish need as Hermione pulled first her own, then Tonks’ shirts off, dropping them on the floor behind her. Tonks closed her eyes and hissed, stretching her arms up to tangle in the sheets as Hermione unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor, instantly reaching to spread her hands over the swell of Tonks’ breasts. They fit perfectly in her hands, and she smirked at the way Tonks gasped and shook with every touch, every bit of friction that she supplied. Hermione had learned more than books could teach in the last weeks, and as she zeroed in on every minute reaction she drew from the gorgeous woman underneath her, her reticence slipped further away until it snapped. “Off. Now. - Please.” She tugged at the hem of Tonks’ sweatpants, throwing in the “please” as a pay-off to her conscience, and they were swiftly kicked to the floor along with Hermione’s jeans.   
Tonks arched off the bed, fists balled in the sheets as Hermione resettled herself on her lap, the younger witches cotton underwear the only thing separating them, and Tonks could feel they were dripping wet. Eager to actualize all of her fantasies of the last few weeks, Tonks moved to grip the younger witches waist and quickly found that her wrists were held with the delicateness of steel in Hermione’s hands.  
“I want to touch you,” Hermione whispered, urging the captive witch to tangle her hands back in the sheets, the boundaries of the game crystal clear.   
Tonks swallowed, shaking under Hermione’s libidinous gaze, “Um, sometimes-” Tonks swallowed again, “Sometimes things happen. So don’t be surprised if things happen.” Tonks was aware that that was not the clearest of statements, but she watched as the momentary confusion on Hermione’s face melted, and the younger witch smiled.  
“I’ll keep that in mind, Tonks.” The tone was quiet, almost teasing, and it shot straight to the spot where their bodies met, right over her nervous center, as Hermione finally leaned down and kissed her, shifting so that she almost lay next to the older witch, straddling her right thigh. Tonks groaned low in her chest and arched her hips, seeking the release that Hermione’s hip bone would bring her. But the younger witch smiled into her mouth, catching Tonks’ lower lip between her teeth and tugging slightly, her right hand splayed out on Tonks’ stomach, stilling her squirming. Tonks’ mind fractured, a whine escaping her lips as she felt Hermione’s hand circle her hip before threading into her damp curls, skimming oh-so-lightly over skin. How was this happening? She was here? Touching her? Wanting to touch her? She had just about convinced herself through her breathless haze that this was all another dream when the younger witch found her clit, and her vision went white hot.   
“Merlin” The plea was guttural, almost painful, her fists clenched so hard in her sheets that she was sure there were rips, her thighs shaking with the effort of letting Hermione explore without just rutting the younger witch into the bed. But Merlin, how she wanted to; she could smell Hermione’s sweat laced with arousal and it was driving her up the wall, the younger witches wetness pressed to her thigh making it all the more difficult to not just take what she needed. But Hermione had an obvious goal in mind, and after a few false starts, had Tonks’ center firmly mapped, and with carnal precision, began to take Tonks apart piece by piece. Tonks closed her eyes, lips open in a pant as she ground her hips up into Hermione’s touch, the muscles deep in her belly starting to quiver in anticipation, the bowl of her hips burning white hot; she began to feel like this moment was going to be over far too fast, and she shifted to try to warn the younger witch to slow down, but Hermione threaded her fingers into her hair and pulled her back down, leaning heavily on the older witch, the pressure on her sex increasing, building to a screaming edge that Tonks couldn’t have stopped if she wanted to. “I’m *pant* gonna -” was all that she was able to get out before orgasm hit, slamming into her like a truck, a strangled “FUCK” ripping from her throat as she buried her face in Hermione’s neck and shook, riding the ecstasy all the way through, until she was spent, the blood buzzing in her veins in such a way that she couldn’t help moving her legs on the sheets, the feel of the satin making her giggle; and there was Hermione, kissing her gently through their smiles, climbing on top of her again and brushing her wild hair out of her face, the freckles on her nose bright with flush.   
Yes, here was everything. Everything that mattered. All right here.


	19. The Work of a Thousand Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers!  
> This has been a long journey, for sure. I hope that you all enjoy this chapter and please read and review! I want to know what you guys think! I mean, by this point I know you like it, in a general sort of sense, but what else? 
> 
> As usual, none of this belongs to me.
> 
> Thank you very much!

Tonks was just coming back to clear consciousness when Hermione suddenly grabbed the older witch’s face and turned it so she could plant a kiss on her cheek, eyes alight with warmth, before she sat up and grabbed her bra from the floor. Tonks also sat up, groaning low in her throat and reaching out to the younger witch, who wiggled out of range with an uncharacteristic giggle; “Nope, hands off” she chided, pulling on her jeans and putting her hair up into something resembling a bun, her eyes never leaving Tonks’ flushed face and unfocused eyes, “I have to get back downstairs or I will be missed.” Tonks flopped back down on the bed, burrowing into the covers with a whine that was thoroughly ruined by one of the older witch’s eyes peeking from the blankets mischievously. Hermione laughed, shaking her head at the low growl still emanating from the blankets, and turned her back on the bed to find her shirt; Tonks rose from the sheets and grabbed Hermione around the waist, flinging them both back onto the bed with a shriek from the younger woman. With a few quick jerks of the comforter, Tonks had Hermione firmly wrapped in a burrito, which she straddled, loafing on the younger witch’s chest like an enormous cat. 

“Nope, I don’t think you’re going anywhere my love,” She was panting from the brief, yet victorious, struggle. A muffled exclamation made Tonks chuckle, the younger woman finally managing to free her face from the comforter.

“You are a git, you know that?” Hermione spat, her sparkling eyes giving away her enjoyment.

Tonks grinned and leaned in, kissing the young witch with a tenderness that did the work of a thousand words; Hermione melted, groaning softly, drawing Tonks in further until her muscles relaxed their vigil. With a jerk, Hermione freed her leg and hooked it over the back of Tonks’ knees and arched her hips, throwing the older woman off of her in a flurry of bed sheets. Cackling gleefully, Hermione gloated in Tonks’ glazed eyes, the older witch’s spiky hair a deep, flushed scarlet. “Truce?” Hermione panted, holding out her pinky finger in absolution.

Tonks beamed as their pinkies locked, the older witch using the leverage to rise and wrap her arms around Hermione’s waist, nose blissfully burrowing into the younger witches neck; they held each other like that for a second, wrapped up and warm, before Tonks let the younger witch go to finish dressing.

“You know, after your warning I was expecting something interesting to happen” The younger witch chuckled over her shoulder as she hunted for her shirt amongst the drifts of dirty clothes.

Tonks scrunched up her nose and ran her hand through her hair, the hue fading back to her usual light pink, “You mean the mind blowing orgasm wasn’t surprising enough?”

Hermione turned, pushing her arms through her T-shirt, “Oh, believe me, that was pretty surprising,” Their eyes met briefly and the older witch winked, Hermione’s cheeks flushing anew, “But, I mean, it seemed like there’s a story there…?” 

Tonks paused in her search for clean pants, contemplating the best way to go about this particular conversation; as usual, she chose the direct route, “Well, sometimes when I get too excited I get a stiffy,” out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hermione pause, “I mean, sometimes it happens when I’m sleeping. Or when I see some food that I really want. Or when I’m on my broomstick. Really any time to tell you the truth” she steamrolled through it, keeping her hands busy with her belt and definitely not staring at the younger witch in her peripheral vision so hard her head was beginning to ache. 

Hermione turned to face Tonks, the slant of her eyebrows denoting curious contemplation; “Huh, I guess I hadn’t really thought about that, but yeah, it makes sense,” Tonks released her held breath in a rush, “I would be curious to see that sometime, if you’ll let me” The younger witches voice was lower, as filled with blush as a voice could get, and Tonks spun around with her tank top in hand to meet Hermione’s inflamed features staring back at her.

“Th - That would be -” Tonks stuttered, clearing her throat emphatically, “That would be -awesome-.” The two women stood staring at one another for a few seconds, fiddling with socks and tank top respectively, until Hermione’s flushed face cracked into a smile, her eyes turning towards the ceiling in mirth.

“I think that that would be awesome as well, Tonks” she snorted with levity, eyes alight and barely leaving the older witch’s body as she padding over to the small wall mirror over the bedside table, grunting slightly at the disheveled sight of her hair.

Tonks brain spun with excitement as she finished dressing, the scenes flashing behind her eyes of an utterly lascivious nature; she was just reaching for her tobacco pouch when Hermione spoke, the hair pins in her mouth distorting her words; “Who is this? In the photo by your bed?” Tonks paused, her hands on the window latch; she exhaled heavily, the images in her mind swirling away in the fog of a London back alley.

“That’s Vex; he was a year ahead of me at Hogwarts, we got along really well.” She threw open the window and cursed under her breath at the frigid air, quickly casting a warming spell before settling in her usual place in the window frame.

Hermione chuckled, still fiddling with her hair pins, “Looks like you guys got along quite well; Merlin those pants he’s wearing don’t leave much to the imagination, and are those heels?” Tonks snorted, engrossed in rolling a cigarette, hoping that the young witch would lose interest soon, “Where is he now? You’ve never spoken of him” Hermione pursued. 

Tonks swore under her breath, the twists of tobacco fluttering away in the breeze from the open window. “Oh, he died a year or so ago,” She could feel Hermione stiffen and turn towards her, the last hairpin hanging from her lips, hands tangled in her hair. 

“Was it-?” The younger witch stammered. 

“No, not Him, just some blokes with a crowbar.” Hermione’s gaze was on her, she could practically see the younger witches eyebrows screwing up in concern; she pointedly kept her gaze on the rolling paper in her hands, determined to get the words out without her voice cracking, “All the magic in the world can’t help if you’re too on the piss to remember a spell. That goes for the bloke who gets it to the head, and the one who goes looking for him when he’s taken too long taking a pee behind the pub.” Tonks exhaled, carefully licking the end of the paper and finishing the roll with a flourish. She knew Hermione was staring at her, could feel the younger witch’s concern bumping against her skin like midges; she chose to ignore it, for the moment.

Hermione cleared her throat, “I - I’m sorry, Tonks. I had no idea.”

The older witch sighed, rubbing her face briskly, and rose from the windowsill, tucking the cigarette behind her ear, “Come ‘er,” she mumbled, holding out her arms; Hermione complied, wrapping Tonks in a firm embrace that pushed all of the raw bits of the older witch back into place. Hermione cupped her hand around the back of Tonks’ head, pulling her in close to her neck, rocking slightly back and forth, “Well I would like to know more, sometime when you feel like talking about it.” Tonks’ reply was too muffled to understand, and with a final soft kiss to the top of Tonks’ head, Hermione pulled back and smoothed down the older witch’s shirt, “So, are you hungry? I heard a rumor that Molly was making stew for dinner?”

Tonks grinned, relief at moving on to a different topic fluttering in her veins like quicksilver and she lunged for the younger witch, picking her up and baring her towards the door with surprising strength for her stature. Hermione giggled, pounding ineffectually on Tonks’ back and protesting sternly through her laughter. Setting Hermione down, Tonks swiftly pressed the younger witch to the door, kissing her until they were both breathless. Pulling back, Tonks reached for the doorknob as Hermione gained her feet again, “You had better wash your hands before eating though!” She grinned, pushing the door open and coming face to face with Remus Lupin.


	20. Inarticulate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So, I have moved. Again. To another state. So I hope to start writing a bit more again now that I'm settled. This chapter is a bit longer, so I hope you like it. Thank you all of you for your persistence on this journey with me! It has been fun. 
> 
> Please note that none of the characters are mine; I own nothing.
> 
> Please read and review! Let me know what your favorite part has been so far! I want to know.

“She’s young, Tonks!”

“So am I! I’m SURE that you have noticed Remus-”

“This has nothing to do with me! I can’t believe you’d be so irresponsible!-”

“Irresponsible? Merlin, Remus I swear I will give you irresponsible if you-”

“You can’t really expect me to stay quiet about this?”

“Oh, I never expect anything from you Remus!”

“Oh come on, Nymphodora, be-!”

“Really? I swear to Merlin-”

The two were standing nose to nose, small sparks arcing from extended pointer fingers to where they nearly jabbed the other in the forehead or belly; Tonks’ hair had gone fire-engine red, and were Remus’ teeth getting ever so slightly pointier? Hermione, utterly rankled, stepped boldly between them and thumped Remus firmly on the shoulder, forcing him back a step; Tonks was heaving mad, the young witch could felt her trembling against her shoulder blades, steaming breath pouring down the back of Hermione’s neck, “Remus, you aren’t going to say a damned thing because we know about you and Sirius and I swear to Merlin that I won’t hesitate to broadcast that one from coast to coast if you say anything.” She dropped the words like a brick of lead and the room went so quiet she heard the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall over the two enraged wizards panting. Hermione stared at Remus’ blanched features, their three bodies frozen like a tableau in the chilly room. 

Remus was the first to stir, “That’s not-” he shifted, clearing his throat, adam’s apple bobbing like a teenager’s, “That’s not like this.” 

Hermione felt Tonks’ body relax behind her in one giant sigh, “I’m sorry, Remus” The words were slightly muffled by Hermione’s hair, which had nearly exploded into a cloud from the static electricity in the room; the older witch stepped quietly out from behind her, running a hand over her sweaty face, “I’m really, really sorry.” The words dripped with weariness.

Remus nodded stiffly, his eyes fixed on a knothole in the floor and sniffed, gaze flitting to Tonks before alighting back on the knothole, “You-you are happy with this, Hermione? You want this?” The words were firm, almost wooden, and the blatant neglect of Tonks’ appeal didn’t escape the young witch. 

Hermione nodded, gently trying to catch the wizard's eye, painfully aware of the barely concealed hurt swimming there, “Yes, I do Remus. It’s not hurting anyone. If it gets out though...hurt would just be the beginning.” The grandfather clock ticked, her gaze fixated on the lines of Remus’ face, the creased brow, tight lips; for a fraction of a second she thought his lip was going to tremble, the piercing eyes fill, but the wizard blinked and cupped his hand over his eyes, rubbing his temple forcefully.

“I-I hope you know what you’re doing. Both of you.” His gaze hardened, flickering between the two witches.

Tonks stepped forward, meeting his gaze, hand out, “We do, Remus” The words were quiet and apologetic, the outstretched hand a hope; Remus paused for a second and then took it, shook it formally, and then strode from the room with a soft woosh of his wool cardigan.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hermione slipped out from her covers and padded over to Ginny’s bed, the young witch’s red hair shining bronze in the moonlight. Kneeling, Hermione hesitated and watched Ginny’s back rise and fall with her breath, mouth slack in sleepy abandon. The last few days had been tense, Tonks’ nerves on random-fire to the point of not meeting Hermione’s eyes when other people were in the room; but now it was Christmas Eve, and Hermione just wasn’t going to have any more of it. Damn if the whole Order found out, there were more important things.

“Hey, Ginny...Hey” Hermione crooned, lightly rubbing the young witch’s back as she roused, “Could you do something for me?”

Ginny rolled, groaning deeply, but dutifully wiped the hair from her eyes, mumbling.

Hermione reached out and lightly brushed the remaining strands of hair behind Ginny’s ear, “I’m going to go and...and, uh...well, maybe I’m going to spend the rest of the night with Tonks. Could you just, make something up, if someone can’t find me?”

Ginny, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, smiled, “Yeah, absolutely. I’ll say you’re in the bathroom or something. No worry.” 

Hermione smiled back, leaning in for a quick hug, kissing the younger witch on the cheek before tucking her back in and tip-toeing to the door. 

Hermione wasn’t quite sure what she would find, slipping into Tonks’ room that night; she couldn’t shake the memory of the first time, all those months ago, that she had slipped in here. All of these feelings, first just simmering right under the surface and now exploding into a white nebula of light; it was in here that she had first begun to taste them and see their real shape. There was still that smell, the one that haunted her dreams and overran her senses until she couldn’t remember a time before she knew it. Tobacco and fire, a hint of leather, broom oil, and spilled ink. The scent was heavy, swirling in Hermione’s head like fire whiskey and dropping to the very depths of her belly. Merlin, it still hit her like a hammer, all the more so for the barest hint of underlying rose water from Hermione’s own clothes. 

The young witch smiled, closing the door with barely a click and cutting off all light. She could hear Tonks breathing, deep and even like the waves at the beach, but as she turned towards the bed something didn’t feel right. The breathing, it wasn’t in the right place. Hermione paused, heart in her throat, disoriented in the dark; she spun with a shriek as a red light suddenly flared behind her.

“What are you doing in here? Did anyone see you come in?” In the wavering crimson light, Tonks’ features were strained, her angular features almost bird-like. Hermione lowered her hand from her mouth, visibly shaking with adrenaline, “Damn it Tonks, you scared me half to death! Are you insane? No, no one saw me come in here. Of course not! Merlin, I just wanted to see you” she hissed, the shock bleeding slowly from her system like the dripping of a leaky faucet. 

Tonks paused, scanning the younger witch’s stiff stance, the gears finally clicking into place when she caught sight of Hermione’s heavily arched eyebrows; nothing good ever came of eyebrows that high. Tonks sighed and straightened, extinguishing the red light with a shake of her wrist, and, with a quick whispered spell and a snap, lit the collection of candles on the desk, throwing them into soft light. “I’m sorry I scared you, I just...didn’t know who you were at first,” Tonks groaned, running her hands through her hair and over her face.

“That’s-That’s fine, Tonks. I should know better by now not to wake you suddenly, but-what’s been going on, Tonks? You’ve been so weird that even Harry asked about it this morning, and Lord, he doesn’t notice much these days outside of his own head.” Her arms were crossed, jaw set and eyebrows still decidedly cutthroat.

Tonks swallowed, unexpectedly nervous in the face of Hermione’s no-nonsense insistence; is this how she continuously got Ron and Harry out of trouble? By just putting her foot down and forcing the issue? If so, it was a force of nature. “‘mione, I mean, with Remus knowing what’s going on-” She stuttered.

Hermione was shaking her head before Tonks had gotten two words out, “No, no, that’s not how this goes. I mean, Christ (Tonks’ brow screwed up a bit at that one; where had she heard that before?) what are we doing here, if not creating something good?” She hissed, frustration pushing its way through every word, “I’m not ashamed of this; are you?” The question was incredibly pointed, the only softening in the edges of Hermione’s eyes, which were just starting to fill with tears.

Tonks blinked, taken aback, “No, no I’m not ashamed of this. At all.” The older witch reached out tentatively, her fingertips barely brushing Hermione’s arm, before falling back to her side; Hermione wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Hey, hey, love, what’s going on here?” The repetition of Hermione’s original question wasn’t lost on either of them.

Hermione shifted, her bare feet cold on the ancient floorboards, the ramrod strength draining through her cracks even as she tried to bolster it; Hermione detested admitting she was in error, but being truly vulnerable, no, inarticulate, was nearly as terrifying. The young witch groaned and paced to the bed, sitting down heavily, head in hands. After a few seconds Tonks padded over and joined her, sitting cross legged with feet tucked under her on the mattress. Hermione cleared her throat, “It’s just - I think when I get back to Hogwarts something big is going to happen. Something is already brewing, between us-” Hermione gesticulated at the wall, meaning Ron, Harry, Ginny, and the rest, “and I just need this - need YOU -” Hermione grabbed Tonks’ hands, folding them in both of her own, “I need your strength, and your warmth and your laugh, and, Merlin-” The young witch’s eyes were filling in earnest now, and she hastily wiped them on her pajama shirt-”I just don’t care if they find out. I might have minded a lot, a while ago, but there’s so much going on now and-” Both witches paused as the big clock in the study struck midnight, “-and it’s bloody Christmas!” Hermione smiled through her tears, squeezing Tonks’ hands hard; “Merlin, I could probably use a few tips from you on magic. How did you even learn half the stuff you do?!” She chuckled, shaking her head with the irony of it, all of it. How had she ended up here? How had she gotten to this midnight Christmas with this incredible woman, this incredibly powerful witch who was apparently falling in love with her (at least, she hoped so). How had she gotten to a place of even considering doing what her, Ron, and Harry had been discussing? Everything changed so fast....

Tonks reached out and caressed Hermione’s damp cheek, pulling her face around so she could kiss her, their lips smiling between kisses, wet with tears. Their bodies slowly gravitated towards one another, until they were lying on the bed, completely entangled, with Tonks’ head resting on Hermione’s shoulder, arm protectively around the older witch. 

Tonks suddenly jerked and sat up, clambering off the bed with an excited mumble. She was back before Hermione could even sit up all the way, thrusting a wrapped parcel under the young witch’s nose, “Merry Christmas, love.” Tonks’ eyes were alight with sparkles, bright electric blue in the candlelight. 

Hermione gingerly took the package, grinning from ear to ear, “I - Wow, thank you Tonks! Merry Christmas!” She settled amongst the sheets and ripped into the package, revealing a second glass orb, this time bright red; when she touched it “Heroes” by David Bowie played, just for her. 

“It’s, um...it’s my favorite love song,” Tonks mumbled, reaching out to lay a finger on the orb as well, so they could both listen. Hermione leaned into the older witch, their foreheads close enough to touch. Hermione cleared her throat and grinned, wiping more tears from her eyes, “Merlin, woman…” the young witch paused, ducking her head even further to hide her fierce blush. Tonks purred, pulling Hermione into her chest and kissing the top of her disheveled hair. 

When the song ended, Hermione pulled gently out of the embrace and scooted to the edge of the bed, gesturing silently for Tonks to wait as she carefully edged out the door into the hall; it wasn’t long before Hermione returned, holding something behind her back, “I didn’t have time to wrap it, but…” still blushing fiercely, she stopped in front of the bed and held out a neatly folded cloak; heavy canvas with velvet trim, burnished brass buttons and a soft collar, the whole piece dyed a deep maroon with a faint gold pattern. The cloak was second hand but well cared for, both warm and light. Tonks took it with overflowing glee and tried it on, marveling at the fit and feel. “I felt kind of bad, taking yours, and I know that you already bought a new one, but this one looked like it would fit you perfectly and the color…” Tonks cut off Hermione’s rambling with a sweeping kiss, nearly knocking them both back onto the bed. “Shut it, it’s absolutely perfect.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few hours later the dawn light of Christmas morning crowning the row houses illuminated the two witches, entangled on the bed blissfully asleep. A tentative knock sounded on the door and Tonks, clad in nothing but the maroon cloak, jerked awake with a snort and, quickly seeing the heft of the situation, disapparated with a muffled clap as the door was wedged open. Hermione jerked awake as her head hit the mattress, dropped from where it had been resting on Tonks’ breast, to face Ginny in her bathrobe.

“Come on “mione, time to get you back to bed,” Ginny chuckled, amused beyond belief at the whole situation. She wasn’t 100% sure how long she would be able to keep this up, but it was something to focus on amongst the swirl of chaos and she was genuinely happy for Hermione. She only hoped that when the time came, Hermione wouldn’t mind collecting her half naked ass at 5AM, but only time could tell on that one.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Luckily, no one but Crookshanks was downstairs to see Tonks, still half asleep with maroon cloak flapping about her naked body, suddenly appear four feet above the study floor and thud unceremoniously to the floorboards with a muffled curse.


	21. Heroes, Just For One Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hope you all like this chapter; it feels like I have been thinking about this chapter for a long time (years, in fact!)  
> Remember that I own nothing.  
> Also remember to read and review!

In the weeks that followed, Hermione would repeatedly summon the memory of Tonks’ hand in hers on the Knight Bus back to Hogwarts. Circumstance had put the rest of the group in the back of the bus with Moody, leaving the two of them to surreptitiously clasp hands and lean into each other with a ferocity that matched the wild swaying of the vehicle. Hermione had awoken the morning of the journey with a biting, vexatious feeling that she was hurtling down the road towards much more than just another semester of school. Would anything for her ever be simple again?

‘ _Negative_ ’ Her brain provided as Ginny flopped face down onto her unmade bed in their dormitory, groaning wetly from the velvet depths. This display was becoming more and more frequent in the girls’ dormitory; Valentine’s Day was upon them and, Merlin help them all, Hermione had never seen such a parade of feminine vapidity in her life. Carefully marking her place in her book, she set the volume aside and quietly bridged the gap between their beds, sitting down next to the despondent red-head. 

“What’s going on Gin?” Hermione cooed, gently combing the younger girls’ hair with her fingers.

Ginny sat up, wiping ferociously at her decidedly soggy features, “Harry’s an idiot, that’s what. And I don’t care because he’s an idiot and I don’t _date_ -” at this her jutting chin threatened to wobble, but she heroically recovered, “I don’t date idiots.” Her reasoning sound, Ginny flopped back onto her sheets and lay, imobile. 

Hermione froze, barely breathing, and stared hard at the patterned stonework walls. She really, really shouldn’t do what her brain was saying to do: splutter with dumbfounded zeal, say nothing and wait for the punchline, or worst of all, laugh raucously. No, composure was the ticket; luckily her will was draconian. She cleared her throat and resumed her petting, trying to avoid the dampest spots. “Harry can be-” She paused, allowing herself the tiniest of smiles as she cleared her throat, “-Harry can be as dense as your mom’s Christmas fruitcake.” Ginny reared up again, growling in frustration with her red hair floating halo-like around her damp face; Hermione quickly steeled her face to neutral concern, clasping Ginny’s hands in hers.

Ginny glared blearily at her, “I know what you’re thinking” she sniffed, “I thought I had grown out of it, but, I don’t know…” she trailed off, glancing at the open window, obviously avoiding Hermione’s eyes, “I guess you can’t control these things. I mean, you fell in love with a woman.” 

Hermione tucked Ginny against her shouder as she dissolved again into tears, resigned. No, you really couldn’t choose, she thought with a slight sardonic grimace; she had known for years that Ginny held a torch for Harry but in the last few months it had appeared to abate some, and Hermione had assumed that Ginny had moved on. A couple girls came giggling into the dorm, but briskly aborted their entry when they saw Hermione’s brutal stare. 

Valentine’s Day be damned, but Lord knows she wasn’t completely immune to the season’s charms, especially this year. She had desperately wanted to send a letter, some sort of communication to Tonks but her sense had won out. She had resorted to carrying the little orbs around with her everywhere; but Merlin, did she hunger for Tonks’ touch. The holiday in general though seemed to bring nothing but broken hearts and lots and lots of snot. Maybe one or two of the older girls were quietly whisked away around April, when their mistakes started to show. And this, this was just a bit of a mess, if Ginny wanted Harry, then she was going to help her figure him out. Luckily, Hermione had had four and a half years’ worth of Harry and she knew the immense hilarity of a match between him and Cho Chang lasting longer than a week. 

Of course, she wasn’t 100% sure that Harry was good enough for Ginny, but once again, if she wanted him then she was going to give it a try. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

But, as Hermione hiked resolutely into the Forbidden Forest, pouring every ounce of her will into a calm and confident demeanor while Professor Umbridge and Harry trailed behind her like ducklings, that had been the last harmonious moment before the entire order of their lives had gone to utter shit. Her only hope was that she would get the chance to attempt an explanation to Tonks before the older witch ripped into her. They had been so stupid, so incredibly, undeniably reckless; the discovery of the DA had been the tipping point for chaos. Through all of that madness had been her O.W.L.S, the second most sacred of horribly exhausting and anxiety producing activities of her life; or at least she thought they were the goal, one of the most important defining moments of her life. Was that true anymore? She felt so unsteady, didn’t know where her compass should be pointing. She longed for Tonks’ arms, ached to fall into that incinerating embrace and beg her to hold on. Please, please just hold on to me. 

Behind her Umbridge made an impatient noise, prodding her in the back with the tip of her wand; a bead of sweat dripped down Hermione’s neck and she led them to the left, further into the forest, praying with every step that the forest would heed her call.

And thank Merlin, it had worked. Kind of. She was not above admitting, but only privately to herself, that she had nearly pissed herself once or twice. Thank Merlin for Grawp.

At the end, she was shaking from head to toe, her sweaty back pressed to a tree trunk as her knees continually attempted to buckle underneath her. Harry’s condition was similar, but he was lit with the fire of purpose and already stomping around the clearing trying to scheme his way to the Ministry of Magic, to find Sirius; if Sirius was even in trouble. Hermione bowed her head, squeezing her eyes tight shut and grimacing, drooling privately behind the curtain of her bushy hair with adrenaline-fueled nausea. The image of a plaid quilt illuminated by soft candle light, a wisp of fresh tobacco smoke drifting by her nose and a warm, impish smile hit her gut like a boulder, and she dry-heaved quietly, tears mixing with the dirt and blood on her cheeks. In her pocket, her knuckles clenched white around Tonks’ Christmas gift, David Bowie’s voice slowly bringing her down from the cataclysm:

“ _I, I will be king_

_And you, you will be queen_

_Though nothing, will drive them away_

_We can beat them, just for one day_ ”

Merlin, how did this happen? Harry was acting insane, growling about flying to the Ministry of Magic when they didn’t even have their wands. They didn’t have anything, they were alone out in the woods. Hermione wasn’t even sure she knew the way back.

“ _We can be heroes, just for one day_ ”

She didn’t want to be a hero. She had just wanted to protect her friends, her family, maybe make a difference if she could; this was so much bigger than her small intentions. 

“ _We can be us, just for one day_

_I, I can remember_

_Standing by the wall_

_And the guns, shot above our heads_

_And we kissed, as though nothing could fall_

_And the shame, was on the other side_

_Oh, we can beat them, forever and ever_

_Then we can be heroes, just for one day_ ”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tonks jerked awake to the sound of frantic pounding on her door; someone in the hall was yelling, but the words were so rough and slurred that she couldn’t comprehend it until she had tumbled out of the sheets, already pulling on her pants.

“Wake up! Wake up! We need to GO!” It was Mad Eye; something must have happened, something big. Tonks grabbed her cloak and stepped into her boots, crashing through her bedroom door to clamber down the stairs with the rest of the Order and out onto the front lawn; Mad Eye rounded on the disheveled group, frowning sourly in the moonlight, “To the Ministry of Magic we’re going; keep in tight formation, Death Eater’s are confirmed on the other side. Let’s make it quick, they have some of ours.” 

Mad Eye turned abruptly, preparing to move out, but Sirius darted forward and grabbed his sleeve, “Who?” Sirius’ face was ghostly and Remus had gone white; they knew something, and her heart leaped into her throat.

Mad Eye thumped his staff on the ground, grumbling in his throat, “It’s the kids” The group froze, wide-eyed; Tonks’ body jolted, the ice in her veins flooded with incinerating heat that flushed her hair deep, blood red. “All of them. The whole group. Don’t know why…” Moody’s voice faded out as Tonks struggled to breathe; a cold paralysis had settled on her chest, heart shivering in panic as raw energy began to flood into her core. _Hermione_. She blearily saw the others begin to blur, white smoke pooling around their feet, and closed her eyes, setting her feet firmly on the concrete. Her breath was coming in short bursts, whistling through tightly clenched teeth as she twitched the tip of her wand in a small circle at her side; energy built and rose in her blood, vibrating through her neurons, jumping the synapses like a wolf on the hunt. She knew she wasn’t together enough to be doing a spell this intricate, but with one, careful, deep breathe she dove into her core, gathered herself, and let her cells _sunder_. White smoke billowed around her feet, lifting her body up as her edges blurred. With a leap she was streaming through the air, weightless, silent as a passing cloud with the rest of the Order, arrow-straight towards the Ministry. All she had to do was hold it together until they arrived; her core was boiling like a dragon’s gullet, building and building with every breath. She would kill every fucking Death Eater in the Ministry, down to the last atom.

As one unit the Order descended into the Ministry, following Mad-Eye as he sussed out where the conflict sat; Tonks hit the floor seconds behind Sirius and Remus, rising from the knee-saving three-point landing with wand outstretched, and strode from her cloud of smoke like a demon fleeing Hell. Sirius tore off to their right, sighting Harry alone facing off with Malfoy. Tonks dodged a rebounding spell and spun, cloak flowing, and knocked a masked Death Eater back into the gloom, scanning the room wildly for any hint of the others. Remus was closest to her, and they backed into each other, grabbing fistfulls of one anothers coats in a practiced maneuver to keep them solidly linked together, back-to-back. They twirled, shoulder-blades touching, spinning spell after spell as the Death Eaters flowed and billowed around them, the black smoke of their flight obscuring the little light in the chamber. Tonks’ heart was hammering, skipping recklessly; there wasn’t anyone else in the chamber, just Harry. Where were the rest? Mad-Eye had said “all of them," right?

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK_ She hurled a curse so hard that the Death Eater hit the concrete wall and slumped, his mask clattering to the floor, blood pouring from a grotesque dent in the back of his skull. Overhead Kingsley swooped, entangled with a dark cloud.

“Good, Tonks, GOOD” Remus yelled, whirling them around to the right, deflecting a weak shot from a fleeing Death Eater who careened through a dark doorway across the chamber. 

“I’m going after him” Tonks yelled back over the static crash of spells, pushing Remus away from her and sprinting across the room, in pursuit. Maybe she could find the others, maybe they weren’t hurt....

“SIRIUS!!!!!! No! SIRIUS!” Tonks twisted around at Harry’s anguished scream, saw him beating impotently at Remus’ shoulder, straining towards the ghostly arch in the center of the chamber, had the merest sliver of a second to focus on Remus’ face, eyes wide and fixed on her, agonizing disbelief in every line as he clung to Harry’s struggling frame like a life support, before a curse roared out of the dark doorway, hitting her square in the chest and throwing her into inky blackness. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ginny rested with her back to the cold corridor wall, rubbing disconsolately at the bridge of her nose to ease the throbbing headache behind her eyes. Hermione’s head was cradled in her lap, body limp in some sort of magical faint; every few minutes Ginny fingered her friends neck, reassuring herself with the strength of the pulse she found there. Neville, Luna, Ron, Hermione and her had been huddled there for about half an hour after Harry had hurtled down the hallway, literally leaping over Hermione’s prone body, in pursuit of Bellatrix; the two had disappeared around the corner and faded into the distance, Remus tearing after him only as far as the group of wounded students. Fast on Remus’ heels had been Mad-Eye and Kingsley, and the remaining Death Eater’s had all been either taken away or fled. For now, they appeared to be safe but by the hushed whisperings echoing down the hallway from the main chamber, that could just be a facade. Ginny caught whisperings about Dumbledore and Voldemort, and they had all been informed of Sirius’ death; silently, Ginny pulled Hermione closer, wincing painfully as her broken ankle was jarred. Next to her, Ron stared glassy-eyed at Hermione, a fold of her shirt in his fist. Neville’s nose had stopped bleeding and was now just a swollen purple bruise on his face; Luna was crying silently on his shoulder. 

The minutes ticked by. She felt like they were in a bomb shelter.

Remus bustled into the corridor, carrying something large in his arms; for a second he blocked the light in the hallway Ginny blinked to clear her vision enough to see. She jolted, stomach dropping like a brick, “Is that Tonks?!” Her voice was harsh and loud, jerking everyone out of their intimate hells, but Remus’ face was the color of porridge, tear tracks streaking his cheeks. 

_No no no no no no_ She panicked, reaching out towards the curled figure in Remus’ arms, “I didn’t-I didn’t think she came with you guys I didn’t even consider-” She babbled as Remus slowly lowered the unconscious metamorphmagus to the marble floor. Lupin gave Ginny a sharp look to shut her up and gently folded his own battered body to the ground, gathering Tonks against his chest like an oversized child. 

“She’s not dead” He mumbled, fussing with her cloak, “Just cursed; she’ll be alright, like Hermione. I just...I figured they should be near one another.” Ginny sighed, the flood of relief so palpable she felt airborne for a second. Lupin shifted, gasping in pain. 

“You can leave her here, next to Hermione, and go lay down yourself, Lupin” Ginny whispered, scanning his mottled complexion and haunted eyes. Remus shifted again, pulling Tonks in closer, hugging her to his chest and tucking her head against his neck protectively. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“If it’s alright, I’ll keep her right here.” The words were barely audible and Ginny had to strain to hear them, nodding her head thoughtfully in the gloom; she was suddenly irrefutably tired and felt her eyelids starting to droop. Her head nodded on her chest, but she felt Remus shaking next to her; blearily she cracked open her eyes and saw he was crying, face almost hidden in Tonks’ cloak. Shakily, she reached out and took his hand, his palm rough against hers, and gave in to sleep.


	22. Foolish Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evening!  
> Can't believe that I'm still updating this story? I can't believe that I'm still writing it! Never forget that I own nothing, and I very much appreciate if you read and review.
> 
> I am sorry that the chapters lately have been a bit more on the dark side, but some things can't be helped. So it goes. 
> 
> Thank you all and I hope that you enjoy! Don't worry, some better things come soon.

Hermione opened her eyes to a piercing white light. She groaned heavily, blinking against the blinding morning rays, intensely relieved to find herself in the Hogwarts hospital wing.

“You’re awake!” A damp hand clasped hers, Harry’s shaggy bangs and glasses coming into focus; he was smiling, but none of it reached his red-rimmed, sunken eyes.

“She’s awake?!” Ron’s voice cracked hideously, echoing against the stones of the vaulted room as he clambered to her side, disrupting a glass of water on her side table in his haste. The water spilled all down the side of his pants, for sure pooling in his shoe but he appeared oblivious, his grin as bright as the sun. His excitement was as palpable as the pain in her hands where the boys gripped them. For that matter, her entire body was wracked with intense, numbing pain and she gasped breathily when Harry bumped her hip accidentally. Merlin, she wanted to be asleep again, but it was too good to see their grins, feel their hands, see the sun. They were all alive; SHE was alive. Awash in relief, she smiled weakly, squeezing both of their hands minutely.

“We made it” she croaked, wincing only a little; her head felt ready to burst. Harry immediately looked down at their entwined hands, fidgeting with a loose thread of her bed sheet and Ron’s eyes widened, obviously at a loss; _Uh oh_. “What happened?” She whispered, trying to catch Harry’s gaze, but he wiped angrily at his eyes and rose, walking over to the open window across the room. Hermione squeezed Ron’s hand, trying to ignore the ache in her bones, drawing his anxious gaze away from Harry’s stiff shoulders; “Tell me, Ron.” 

Ron swallowed, pale as fresh milk, “I-I’m not quite sure what happened, exactly, but Sirius-” He trailed off, glancing nervously at Harry.

“So he was at the Ministry? Harry was right?” She whispered, trying to draw him back.

Ron shook his head, haunted. “No, he wasn’t there. At first. He came later with the rest and-and we were all in the room with that ghastly arch. Bellatrix cursed him and Sirius fell…” Tears were beginning to trail down his cheeks and he sniffed quietly, wiping at them. Hermione’s heart sank and she closed her eyes, squeezing Ron’s hand as hard as she was capable. Sirius and her hadn’t spend too much time together; the man made her nervous, kind of like she needed a wash but he had meant everything to Harry. The loss would be devastating. 

“Wait, you said he came with ‘the rest’?” Hermione croaked, finally catching up.

Ron nodded miserably. “Yeah, Mad-eye, Kingsley, Lupin, and Tonks. They all came…”

From across the room, someone whooped excitedly, “Hermione! You gits didn’t tell me she was awake!” And there was Ginny, resplendent in a yellow hospital robe, hobbling towards them with the help of a cane. Hermione tried to sit up, temporarily forgetting her injuries and blanched at the dazzling pain. “Shhhh, let me come to you, you idiot” Ginny quipped, settling herself bedside where Harry had been, taking up her hand and squeezing lightly. 

Hermione locked eyes with the young witch, panicked beyond belief. “Ginny, Ron says that Tonks was at the Ministry-”

“Shhh, shhhh Hermione it’s fine; she’s fine.” Ginny cooed, glancing at Ron’s arched brow and Harry who was now leaning against the window frame, brooding.   
Hermione sighed in relief, color returning to her cheeks; Ron’s brow was furrowed. “Why are you always going on about Tonks, ‘mione? I mean, Sirius-” He managed to get out before Ginny silenced him with a sharp glare, all three of them eyeing Harry wearily. Both Ginny and Hermione were opening their mouths, neither sure what they were going to say, when Harry turned back towards them.

“You like her, don’t you?” He stated flatly, eyes slicing across the room and right into Hermione’s. Hermione froze, speechless, clutching Ginny’s hand as hard as her condition would allow. The grip of Ron’s hand had gone slack. 

Her iron backbone deserted her. “So what if I do?” The words came out smaller than she would have liked, but they were ernest; she had to be satisfied with the fact that she had managed to hold Harry’s gaze.

Wearily, Harry shuffled over to the bed and Ginny scooted over to make room for him on the sheets. “Nothing, really” He rasped, his voice a little raw; he removed his glasses and wiped again at his damp cheeks, “I like Tonks. I just wish you had told us about it.” To his credit, he tried to smile at her, but it came across as a bit of a grimace. But he tried, and Hermione knew it was more to do with Sirius’ death than her. 

Hermione blinked, a few incoherent sounds spilling off her tongue before she found her words.”I wish I had told you sooner too.” Ginny was smiling triumphantly at the group, but her grin fell when she spied Ron, his cheeks pale and mouth hanging open.

“But-But She’s a-” Ron started to splutter but Ginny, quick as a snake, grabbed her discarded cane and poked him in the ribs with it.

“I swear to Merlin Ron if you say one stupid thing I will do a lot more than poke you with this.” 

Ron backed down, his face flaming; Hermione reached again for his hand, clasping it with as much warmth as she could muster and caught his eye, holding it there until the smallest, bashful grin crooked the corner of this mouth.

“Sorry, ‘mione” He mumbled.

Hermione chuckled, relief flooding her system like Fire Whiskey.

“I saw the whole thing Hermione, I broke my ankle but I saw it all…” Ginny exclaimed, bouncing a little on the bed; before long the entire story had spilled from her lips, stumbling and falling into a blushing silence only when it came to the end, and Sirius. “Mad-Eye came last night, he told me that Tonks was going to be fine, though she was still sleeping. He says she will wish she was still asleep when she finally woke…” Ginny cringed, patting Hermione’s leg through the thin hospital sheets.

“If she feels anything like I do right now, I can understand” Hermione whispered. As wonderful as it was to know that Tonks was alright, she couldn’t help but feel cheated. They had been so close, their skin touching, though their minds had been elsewhere. The thought of their helpless bodies cradled in that dark hallway gave her the shivers, and Remus, oh Remus; the loss of Sirius was felt by a few more people than just Harry.

“There’s more, though” Harry muttered, reaching behind him to a copy of The Daily Prophet on her side table and handing it over to her. 

Catching sight of the headline, Hermione’s blood ran cold; “He Who Must Not Be Named Returns!” blazed out at her, as bold as brass. “When did this-?!” She stuttered, but all three of them bore down on her, Ginny and Ron squeezing her hands, and Harry gripping her leg reassuringly through the sheets.

“It’s happening” Harry stated, the sorrow in his eyes making him seem far older than his 15 years.

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Hermione murmured. 

“Oh! I brought this from your room!” Ginny cried, leaving the bed to rummage in the bags underneath it, rising with Tonks’ cloak in her hand. “I hope you don’t mind that I knew about it…” The young witch mumbled as she opened it and spread it out over Hermione.

Hermione exhaled heavily, disturbing the wisps of her hair that had fallen into her eyes, and pulled the cloak up under her nose, burrowing into the collar where some scent still lingered. She sniffed, holding back the slightest prickle of tears; “I don’t like her, Harry” She said, her voice gaining back its iron backbone with every word. She looked up and caught his eye from over the newspaper. “I love her.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tonks awoke to cloying darkness and a banging in her head. Moaning softly, she tried to sit up and quickly fell back to the pillows; Merlin she was almost too weak and pained to move an inch. The smog in her head cleared a bit and the banging turned out to be a soft knocking on a wooden door. Her bedroom door, to be exact. 

She was back at the house on Grimmauld, in her bed, with her quilts tucked up under her chin. 

Carefully, moving by inches, Tonks climbed out of bed and hobbled to the door, lighting the candle on her nightstand with a tiny burst of power that burned her already frayed nerves. She felt shattered, beaten without any bruises, broken without any breaks. It wasn’t the first time she had been hit with a curse, but it was by far the worst and the medical care that the Order could offer was more like a back-alley than a sterile hospital wing. She opened the door to find Remus, dressed as raggedly as ever in a patched woolen sweater and frayed corduroys, house slippers with holes in the toes; his hair was a mess, still dusted with stone debris from the Ministry, and his eyes were red and raw. He did nothing, just stood there silently as Tonks took in the sight. She nodded softly, a thin smile gracing her lips; she was tired beyond belief, so exhausted that she wasn’t sure she could make it back to the bed without assistance, but she wasn’t broken. Remus looked cracked in two.

“Come on, Remus” She mumbled and pushed the door open further, welcoming him into the room; when he shuffled inside she closed the door and locked it, turning slowly to slide back onto the bed, not bothering to get under the sheets. Remus was already there, stretched out with his hands folded on his chest, eyes turned unseeingly towards the ceiling. Lying beside him in a similar fashion, they watched the candle light dance on the distant beams, silent.

“She’s safe. Mad-Eye saw them all to the Hospital Wing and we got word a few minutes ago that they are all just fine.” His words were distant and emotionless, spoken so quietly Tonks could barely heard them. 

Carefully, she reached out and took his hand, folding it into hers with a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” Again, they lay in silence, Tonks fading in and out of consciousness with each breathe. 

“You love her, don’t you?” Remus whispered.

Tonks nodded in the candlelight, “Yes. I do.”

Remus turned towards her, his eyes as open as a child’s. “I’m sorry, Tonks. I was foolish.”

She reached up and wiped a tear from Remus’ cheek, grasping his hand as hard as she could; her throat clenched with the sorrow of looking at him, the effort to hold it back too much for her. “Did you-did you love him?” She croaked, her voice breaking.

“Yes” The response was cracked, broken at all of the joints. She had never known a single word could carry so much weight.

When Molly Weasley came in hours later to check on her she found them both on Tonks’ bed; Remus was curled with his knees to his chest and the much smaller witch was cupped behind him, holding the wizard against her chest like a griffon with its chick. With a sorrowful smile, she wisely left them to sleep.


	23. It's Simple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I bet you will all like this chapter.   
> Remember that I own nothing.  
> Also, remember to read and review! Tell me what you like (and don't like, but no flames please)  
> Thank you! Enjoy!

Crookshanks was complaining loudly in his wicker carrier when Hermione stepped off the Hogwarts Express; she paused in the billowing steam to scan the crowd, shoulder to shoulder with the flood of students and rushing parents. Disoriented, she caught sight of Ron and Ginny’s bronze hair and pushed towards them, relieved to see Harry with them as well. Grabbing bits of one anothers’ bags to stay together, they swam through the crowd towards the south exit.

“Are you excited?!” Ginny yelled over Hermione’s shoulder, barely audible in the echoing din. In truth, her heart was in her throat, so high it felt ready to choke her. Her anxiety since waking up in the hospital wing had been intense, getting to see Tonks her only truly comforting thought. The idea that she may not be here today was devastating. Through the throng she caught sight of Mad-Eye’s halo of greasy ashen hair but she was buffeted by a boy on her left and lost him. 

Crookshanks yeowled, jostled with every step. “I don’t-I don’t even know if she will be with them!” Hermione yelled back, uneasily peering over the crowd on tip-toes every time they were forced to stop.

“Of course she’s going to be with them, ‘Mione!” Harry roared over Ron’s shoulder, his face briefly cut off from view by a lady’s wide-brimmed hat as he tried to look over his shoulder at her. Ron remained tight-lipped and silent; his brief stunned acceptance of Hermione’s revelation in the hospital wing had worn off a few nights later, he had been moody and snappish ever since. 

With a final push, Harry stumbled out of the crowd and pulled the rest of them through, their bags and boxes popping out of the throng behind them like corks from a shaken bottle; the relieving space was short-lived. 

“Oh will you look at all of you! Come here! Oh my goodness you’re so thin!” Mrs. Weasley already had both Ron and Ginny in her arms, their faces smushed into her shoulders. Mad-eye and Arthur had swarmed Harry, and she was turning in place, scanning faces desperately. Her stomach plummeted, the let-down so heavy that she felt tears choking her, when a ferocious growl emanated from the crowd and a slim hand thrust between Arthur and Molly, prying them apart; Hermione was already powering towards that beautiful, oh-so-recogniseable hand when a shock of familiar hair lunged into view, bottomless eyes already latched onto her. 

Hermione dropped her bags on the concrete, Crookshanks spitting like hot oil, and crashed full-tilt into Tonks embrace, the older witch laughing impishly as she lifted Hermione off her feet. Hermione’s heart sobbed, too busy inhaling the scent enveloping her to let the tears fall; behind the cover of her hair, she kissed Tonks’ neck, eliciting that familiar chesty purr that the young witch had only dreamed of for far too long. 

With a whine, Tonks set Hermione back on the ground and leaned back just enough to put their foreheads together, noses almost touching. Wild strands of Hermione’s hair stuck to their damp cheeks as they beamed at one another. The little part of Hermione that wasn’t involved in fits of elation noticed that Tonks looked exhausted, her smile slightly drawn and her complexion waxy. Her hair was a light brown, not it’s usual pink. The space between them was heady, their eye contact communicating all of the fear and loss, the love and bitter-sweet bliss, everything that they didn’t have the words for. 

“Hey” Tonks croaked.

“Hey there” Hermione wheezed back, her chest too tight to speak properly.

“Tonks! You’re alive!” Ginny squealed, breaking their intimacy and opening them to the rest of the group which jostled for their attention, hugging and back-slapping and crying in joy; through it all Hermione could feel the closeness of Tonks like a compass to magnetic North. She duly noted that Remus looked absolutely terrible, his eyes were sunk into his cheeks and his hands shook with a slight tremor as if he hadn’t slept in weeks; nothing though could outweigh the radiating light of Tonks, how Hermione could reach her with just an outstretched hand. She did it now, running a finger lightly down the side of the woman’s arm as she talked with Ron; those bottomless eyes darted to her, awash with yearning. 

Mad-Eye harrumphed and stomped his hobnail boots and just like that, the group pulled together and started to move off towards the platform exit; Mad-Eye, Arthur, and Tonks peeled off with Harry in the direction of the Dursleys who were huddled in the corner of the station, staring with open disgust at the throngs of Hogwarts students. Hermione, Ron, and Ginny waited at a respectful distance with Molly and a silent Remus.

“I’m so excited you decided to stay with us for the summer!” Ginny exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“You are always welcome at the Burrow, Hermione.” Molly piped in, turning to face them, “And you and I are going to have a conversation, dear” Molly intoned, patting Hermione on the cheek and smoothing her lapel with a firmly arched eyebrow. Hermione’s cheeks colored, flustered beyond words at the inevitable conversation between her and Molly. Ginny and Ron had both received mail from their parents which relayed the excitement of the end of the school year and the return of their children to The Burrow for the summer, followed by a very cryptic “and the house will be very full this summer; we have offered to house a few friends who have found themselves homeless but I’m sure you will find order in the usual chaos.” The group had puzzled over it for an evening before Hermione figured it out; the Order must have relocated to The Burrow after Sirius’ death. The exact reason had completely eluded them, especially since the death of his Godfather was still a completely taboo discussion subject around Harry. 

That night in their dormitory, Ginny had shimmied into Hermione’s bed, an impish smile on her face. “So, do you want to come and stay with me this summer? Or should I just tell Tonks myself how you went home to stay with your parents, rather than see her?”

After that it had been a short letter exchange with her parents and the arrangements had been made. Ginny had been nothing but utterly delighted, happily rearranging her bedroom in her head to make room for a cot; Hermione didn’t quite have the heart to tell the younger witch that there were other reasons for her to stay at The Burrow, reasons that had been on her mind since she read the headline of The Daily Prophet the hospital wing. She wasn’t sure if her parents’ house was safe anymore, and she definitely did not like the thought of being isolated from the wizarding world for months. She had no idea if Tonks herself had been told that she was coming to stay; she wasn’t sure how much non-Order information Arthur and Molly chose to share with the group. Either way, she had carried the knowledge that there was one potentially awkward conversation in her future, even though she was nearly 17 and a legal adult; Molly was a fierce mother and absolute matriarch of The Burrow. Nothing would happen under her roof without her knowledge.

Hermione had just opened her mouth to respond when Remus put a hand on Molly’s shoulder, turning her to face him. “I think I can bring some light to this” He muttered, his eyes flicking over to Hermione’s stunned countenance, the slightest twinkle present in his gaze. 

Molly spluttered, obviously intrigued beneath her confusion; luckily Mad-Eye rumbled in the distance and Hermione gratefully crowded in to say her good-byes to Harry. Tonks came up behind her and Ginny as they waved Harry off, looping an arm over each of their shoulders and leaning into them with a rackish air, a bent cigarette dangling, unlit, from the corner of her mouth. 

“So, where are your parents at, love? Can I meet them?” Tonks quipped, looking around the crowd eagerly; there was a heaviness in the words that belied the tone and Hermione knew she was trying to put on a brave face. Her heart twisted at the thought of letting the woman out of her sight; luckily, she didn’t have to, this time.

Ginny cackled as they moved as a unit towards the station exit. “I’m coming home with you” Hermione laughed, joining Ginny in the relish of Tonks’ confusion. “I’m staying at The Burrow this summer. I’m not going back home.”

The older witch stopped in her tracks, Hermione and Ginny taking a few more steps before turning to face the incredulous metamorphmagus. Tonks searched their eyes for one second, two, then gave a loud cry of joy and leaped forward to pick up Hermione, bags, Crookshanks and all, and bore them towards the station exit with Ginny snorting mirthfully in their wake. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Their arrival at The Burrow was met by an enormous supper of stew and fresh bread which had been simmering and baking while they were in London; the usual cacophony ensued as they all sat down and began passing dishes, the conversation light and upbeat, though Hermione felt overwrought. She choked up at the sight of all of them together again, the absence of Sirius a gaping hole in their family that screamed to be acknowledged, though no one seemed inclined to do so. Had they even talked about it? Had anyone? Harry, Ron, and her sure hadn’t. Looking around at each of them, Hermione could see new lines, new shadows, new burdens on all of their faces that the afternoon light couldn’t erase; did she bear similar marks? 

She was squished between Ginny and Ron and was currently getting elbowed in the neck by Ron as he passed a bread basket to Fred. Tonks and Remus were sitting across from them, and Hermione noted with distress that both of them were merely picking at their food. Chewing a mouthful of stew, Hermione studied Tonks’ face, her heart fluttering like caged pixies at the sight of her, so close. She needed to get the older witch alone. She wasn’t sure how easy that would be in the over-crowded Burrow, but they would have to figure it out. With a spreading warmth, Hermione imagined touching her, smoothing over every line of Tonks’ face, threading her fingers into her tousled hair, kissing her lips that seemed to thin with anxiety every time the older witch thought no one was looking. Something was seriously wrong with her, and Hermione wasn’t going to let it go undiscussed.

Tonks noticed her stare and locked eyes, grinning salaciously; Hermione’s cheeks spiraled into a fierce blush and her stomach to dropped precipitously. There were other reasons to be alone. After that, the stew has no taste to Hermione, though she spoons it into her mouth dutifully. All she can taste is lust. With every heated gaze, she is pleased to see Tonks’ hair beginning to fade to pink, like a gorgeous sunset. She can feel the same color rising in her skin, fit to consume her. 

As soon as Molly rose to begin clearing the table, Ginny pulls Hermione to her feet and drags her up a cramped, twisting stairwell to her bedroom, Hermione protesting the entire way. “Let’s get you settled in before you disappear into Tonks’ tent, okay?” she grumbles, belying her tone with a wink as she pulled aside the heavy drape she used in place of a bedroom door. The room beyond was tiny, about the size of a large walk-in closet but without a single ninety-degree corner. The ceiling was sloped and bent in odd ways, meeting the walls at different angles that confused the eyes, like an optical illusion. The window was small and dirty, the lead-lined panes colored red and yellow, the single clear panel in the center letting in the only honest light. Ginny’s bed was an old brass-frame number with a hand-sewn quilt on the top featuring a meadow scene complete with flowers, squirrels, rabbits, and one large creature that looked like a pink, wooly rhinoceros. Against the far wall, a space had been cleared and a bed made out of an old bookshelf with the shelves removed, stuffed with blankets; Crookshanks was already curled in the center of the nest in a shaft of afternoon light. Only about two feet separated the beds.

“It’s not a lot, and we didn’t have any spare cots, but Mom assured me that you would be quite comfy…”

Hermione smiled, her aching body momentarily forgotten. “Ginny, this is wonderful.”

Ron clambered up the stairs behind them, careening into his own room down the hall. His room actually had a door and was a little bit larger and twice as disorganized. On the next level up were Charlie and Percy’s room, which Molly had prepared for Percy’s arrival later that week, and Fred and George’s room. The space resembled an eyrie, their beds stacked on top of one another in a narrow room with a towering ceiling, a line of tiny windows running from floor to ceiling illuminating piles of merchandise boxes overflowing with products for their shop. It didn’t look like either of them had slept there in weeks. A large disorderly bathroom was also on the third floor; a huge bathtub occupied the center, accompanied by three toilets and a line of four mismatched sinks. Corroded mirrors, dusty rag rugs and so many house plants you could barely see through the forest they created completed the scene. 

“When we were all little, Mom and Dad did some emergency renovations” Ginny muttered, seeing Hermione’s sideways glance at the multiple toilets. “Apparently Fred and George didn’t have a lot of patience. Don’t worry, the door locks.”

Molly and Arthur’s bedroom occupied the top floor, though they didn’t venture up the final rickedy stairwell; “Mom doesn’t like it when we go in there. I have heard rumors that they have their own bathroom, but none of us has ever been brave enough to go find it” Ginny rolled her eyes happily, obviously proud of her home, in all of its disordered magic. Hermione couldn’t imagine a more distinctive home, especially in contrast to her parents’ tame, urban existence. What did Tonks’ childhood home look like? She rarely spoke of her parents but she knew she was close to them. What would the older woman think of her suburban house? Her thoroughly Muggle parents?

Hermione chewed on this thought as they made their way back downstairs and out into the extensive garden. The Burrow had no fences, just a quiet river bordered by trees, and further out fields of corn and wheat. Dusk was firmly setting in and fireflies played in the evening breeze off the river; a double line of small lanterns illuminated a path over the lawn to a couple simple canvas tents under a large oak. Hermione’s heart stuttered, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of Tonks standing outside one of the tents, a small glass of something amber in her hand which she sipped at while gazing out over the water. She was wearing the cloak Hermione had gifted her for Christmas, the tails billowing slightly around her in the gentle breeze. Stopping in her tracks, Hermione watched the fireflies dance around the woman’s legs, the sight of her wand stuck in the top of her unlaced boot squeezing her chest so hard she couldn’t help but smile. 

She had waited so long for this.

“And this is when I leave you.” Ginny said, tugging lightly at her shirtsleeve; “You know where I’ll be. Don’t do anything too crazy.” A quick kiss on the cheek, and then the young witch was gone.

Hermione smoothed the front of her shirt and tried to tuck her hair behind her ears, chest aching with the pound of her heart. How come after everything this still felt like that night in the hallway, when Ginny found her trying to work up the courage to knock? There wasn’t any door between them, but she hovered all the same, uncertain.

Merlin she was being an idiot. Again. Why was she so nervous? It wasn’t like it was the first time. But it had been so long...so much had happened. Swallowing heavily, she watched as Tonks took another sip of her drink and wrapped her cloak tighter around her thin body against the evening chill. Oh, she was being such a twit.

Hermione set off across the grass with a final huff to expel the ghosts. 

She chose to come up behind Tonks, softly wrapping her arms around her torso and pulling her close, her chin coming to rest perfectly on Tonks’ shoulder. Of course the older witch didn’t even flinch, she realized with some chagrin that she had probably known exactly where she was since her and Ginny stepped out the backdoor. Silently, Tonks leaned back into her and offered the small cup to her with a sideways grin. Hermione took the offer and sipped delicately, the provocative taste of Fire Whiskey swirling up into her nose and dropping into her belly with a flush of warmth. It felt easier with the woman in her arms, the reassuring solidity of her body flattening her nerves. 

“I missed your smell” Hermione murmured as she buried her nose gratefully in Tonks’ hair, inhaling deeply.

Tonks chuckled lightly in her arms, the sound mixing with the shush of the river, the breeze in the trees. She turned in Hermione’s arms, coming to face her with eyes as bottomless as the night sky, their faces only inches apart.

“I missed yours” Tonks sighed, tipping the last of the Fire Whiskey down her throat and tossing the small cup onto the grass. “Though it’s changed a bit” The older witch smoothed back a lock of Hermione’s hair that had been loosed in the breeze.

Hermione nodded, “A lot has changed.” She fingered Tonks’ mousey brown locks, the question hanging silently between them.

Tonks sighed heavily, leaning into Hermione’s embrace. “It has been a...trying time.”

Hermione nodded again against Tonks’ head, kissing her scalp tenderly, silently encouraging her.

“Sirius’ death was-IS-terrible. I can’t...I don’t have the control that I should.” Tonks whispered, her voice hitching painfully.

Hermione squeezed her tight, rubbing her back soothingly and swaying lightly with the rhythm of the trees. It felt good to finally talk about it, the catharsis bringing damp tears to her own eyes.

“And I’ve been so damned worried about you” Tonks growled, rearing out of Hermione’s embrace and thumping her lightly on the shoulder, the love in the older witch’s eyes laid bare by her unshed tears. The two witches paused, locked into each other’s gaze, vulnerable. “But apparently I didn’t have much to worry about.” Tonks continued, chuckling even with her running nose and streaming eyes. “I hear you can cast your Patronus now” She reached up and cupped Hermione’s cheek, “That’s no small matter.”

Hermione’s nerves hummed appreciatively at the touch. “It didn’t do much for me, at the Ministry” She mumbled, shame staining her cheeks.

Tonks laughed, the sound startling Hermione out of their tiny bubble. “Hell, love, you did just about as good as I did, then.”

Hermione looked up at the stars, at the fireflies playing along the edge of the water, at Tonks’ sparkling eyes in all of their complexity. 

No, nothing would ever be simple again.

Holding Tonks’ eyes, Hermione grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, dropping it onto the grass before reaching for the buttons of her jeans.  
Tonks’ mouth dropped open, “What are you doing?”

Dropping her jeans, Hermione took Tonks’ hand and ran towards the river, her pale underwear gleaming faintly in the moonrise. At the edge Tonks dug in her heels, laughing joyously as Hermione leaped into the river with a cry. 

“You are bloody insane!” Tonks howled, already stripping out of her cloak and kicking off her boots as Hermione’s head breached the surface. The water wasn’t too deep, only coming up to Hermione’s shoulders and she stood, smoothing her hair back from her face. The sight took Tonks’ breath away.

“Come on!” Hermione teased, and Tonks dove in after her with an enormous splash, the older witch rising from the depths to lift Hermione off her feet. Hermione held on, wrapping her legs around Tonks’ waist and pulling her close, their chests pressing against one another as they kissed, both of them breathless and giggling even as their lips danced against one another, deepening their embrace. Hermione’s skin shivered, all of her heat coalescing at the apex of her thighs and she clung to Tonks’ shoulders, rolling her hips into the older woman’s stomach.

Tonks groaned against Hermione’s lips, her hands shifting to cup Hermione’s hips, holding her steady and firm against her skin. The younger witch was panting in her arms, coming apart at the seams with every touch of her tongue, every grind. 

“I want you” Tonks moaned, Hermione’s only reply a feral whine at the play of Tonks’ tongue on her collarbone. With a snap of her fingers, Tonks had her wand in her hand and Hermione felt a gut-wrenching tug as Tonks apparated them onto a soft mattress surrounded by heavy canvas drapes. 

Hermione barely had time to register the familiar plaid quilt and black sheets before Tonks was on top of her, stealing her breath with every kiss, their wet skin slipping against each other so beautifully she felt about to burst into flames. With startling urgency, Tonks rid Hermione of her bra and pulled each of her nipples onto her tongue in turn, drawing fourth a needy whine from Hermione’s chest that shattered her will completely. 

“I need you. Now.” Hermione gasped, grabbing Tonks’ hand and pulling it down between them, to where her thighs spread around the older witch’s hips, her heat pressing deliciously into Tonks’ abs through her underwear.

Tonks sat up, reaching down to pull off Hermione’s underwear when she paused, looking down at her own cotton-clad sex. Hermione sat up a bit, curious despite her condition, and smiled, a new wave of heat sweeping across her flesh like a match igniting gasoline. 

“Oh fuck yes.” She groaned, reaching out to caress the front of Tonks’ underwear, her other hand running up the older witch’s wet stomach to pull lightly on a nipple ring. Tonks’ head fell back, moaning so low in her chest it sounded closer to pain, not pleasure, as Hermione’s hand explored Tonks’ feverishly warm erect sex, stroking it lightly through her soaked briefs. Tonks was panting, moaning with every breath , and oh how Hermione’s skin ached, desire clenching her belly with every sound she pulled from her desperate lover. She leaned forward and ran her tongue over the older witch’s chest, felt Tonks’ hands come up to tangle in her wet hair, pull her mouth up for a rough kiss, felt Tonks twitch longingly against her belly. “Please, Tonks” She whined.

Tonks shivered, her ragged breath the only sound in the close dark as she rid Hermione of her underwear and pinned her to the quilt, the muscles in the older witch’s shoulders flexing deliciously under Hermione’s fingertips. Feverish, Hermione could only whimper as Tonks fumbled at her own briefs between her legs, her thighs trembling under the tension of holding herself open around Tonks’ hips, her own stomach shuddering with the mercurial heat that was building, building, _building_. Tonks kissed her hurriedly, one hand cupped under her head, holding her steady as the other grazed the inside of her thigh, and _Oh Merlin_ she could feel her, slipping against her thigh like the lick of a flame; Tonks groaned against her tongue, pulling her so close Hermione could hardly breathe, her fingernails digging into the muscles of Tonks’ back, holding on for her life, _her life. Everything_. 

Tonks’ back flexed, her hips effortlessly grinding up and into her.

Hermione’s cry was wordless, her entire body tensing, thighs rising to clench higher, wider, harder as Tonks took her, effortlessly, the older witch’s face buried in the crook of her neck; she could already feel her climax rushing forward, crackling along her skin like lightning, filling her hips to bursting as Tonks rolled within her, and Hermione arched her back, urging her deeper, Tonks’ toes digging into the sheets in an effort to find purchase as Tonks touched her spot once, twice, her tensity building threefold as her breath hitched, trying to hold herself back, but Tonks bit her hard, the growl that shuttered through her chest barely a warning for the undeniable release that was happening inside of her and Hermione tumbled after her, climaxing as if compelled, the ferocity of it leaving tiny crescent shaped marks on Tonks’ back, like wings.


	24. Sound of Grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely people!  
> I know that it has nearly been a year since updated this; I have no intention of leaving this story unfinished; I love it, it is my baby, and I am quite fond of it. Life DOES sometimes get in the way, and being an adult doesn't get any easier the older you get.  
> Anyways, PLEASE read and review! I love to hear your thoughts.   
> I know this is a short one, but it gets me back into the swing of things.  
> I own nothing!  
>  Enjoy!

Tonks’ eyes snapped open when her wand hit her palm; she lay in the dark, blinking sweat out of her eyes. She could feel Hermione breathing deeply next to her, the arm slung across her naked chest clammy. In fact, Tonks was covered in sweat and the covers had been long kicked to the floor. 

Slipping out from under Hermione’s arm, Tonks stalked silently to the tent flap and crouched, the tip of her wand barely nudging the partition of the heavy velvet drapes. The night was hot and still, utterly silent; not even the chirp of an insect singing in the summer night. Tonks inhaled deeply, steadying her hand as she prepared to fling herself through the tent flaps; she could feel something, a presence out there, not more than twenty feet from where…

A muffled howl rent the silence, jolting Hermione awake behind her, but Tonks was already out of the tent, her cloak winging after her naked form as she strode across the dew-damp grass towards a figure crouched by the river, head in their hands. It was Remus, snot pooling in his moustache as he wailed, shoulders arched like a cat trying to vomit a hairball, his wails muffled by a shirt clenched over his mouth by white-knuckled hands. 

“Okay, okay Remus, it’s okay, I promise, it’s going to be okay, I’m here, I’m here-” The words tumbled off her tongue as she reached for him, cradling the base of his skull in her hand like an infant, and pulled their foreheads together; she whispered to him with her eyes closed, so that they could share the same intimacy, of touch and scent and sound; feathered her fingertips over his hands until they relinquished their grip, the sodden shirt falling to the grass as Remus finally breathed, a comic bubbling sound that would illicit laughs in any other company. But it was dark, and they were alone under the stars. 

And Sirius had died.

\-----------------------------

“Hey, love, you awake?” 

Hermione rubbed her eyes, groaning, “I am; what was that god-awful noise? Is everything okay?”

Tonks sat on the bed and reached for Hermione’s face, brushing the hair out of her eyes; her cheek was warm, soft, supple. “Everything will be just fine, love, nothing to worry about. Just grief working its way out” Tonks sighed, exhaustion dripping off of every syllable.

Hermione grunted, sleepily trying to pull Tonks back into the bed, cold leather cloak and all.

“I’ll be right back into bed, I promise. I...I need to set Remus up with a cot in the second room, okay? It won’t take more than a minute” Tonks whispered, leaning in to kiss Hermione’s cheek.

“What? Wait, there’s a second room?” Hermione mumbled from somewhere in her pillow, “How big is this tent?”

Tonks chuckled as she padded back across the floor, fiddling with her wand idly, “There isn’t one - yet.” Tonks stepped again out into the night air, this time the barest blush of dawn kissed the horizon. She paused, staring at the curled figure of Remus, asleep in the grass, before turning to face the tent and raising her wand, “The tent’s big enough for the whole damned family, love.”


	25. Cream and Sugar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Friends,
> 
> Thank you for sticking this out! As usual, I own nothing and I really appreciate the reviews!  
> Let me know about your favorite chapter or scene. Let me know what you would like to see more of.
> 
> This chapter is a bit light, so enjoy the summer sun!

“Do you think he likes me?”

Hermione lowered her book to peer at Ginny across the living room; the red headed witch was curled on the edge of the sofa with her chin in her hand, gazing dispiritedly out the window at the Quidditch scrimmage in full-swing above the neighboring wheat field. Setting aside the book, Hermione carefully extricated herself from the over-stuffed armchair and flung herself onto the couch next to Ginny, coming to rest with her arm around the younger girls’ waist, head on her shoulder. The pair watched the game, laughter and disconnected words floating in to them on the thick summer breeze. 

“I think he does” Hermione muttered distractedly, her eyes tracking the vision of Tonks sitting on her broom guarding the rotting telephone pole currently in use as a goal post; the witch was wearing her baggy black pants and a sports bra, pink hair shining like a beacon in the sun.

Ginny grunted and flipped onto her back, spluttering when their combined hair frizz ended up in her mouth, sticking to the sweat on her face. Eventually the pair settled again, Ginny stretched out on her back with Hermione’s head on her shoulder. The clock in the kitchen struck 2:00 in the afternoon; outside the sound of revelry as a goal was scored. “Did Remus sleep in with Tonks again last night?” Ginny mumbled, eyes closed.

“Yeah, he’s been in there the last few nights, sleeping on a cot at the foot of her bed,” Hermione sighed, sitting up a bit and propping her chin on Ginny’s chest with her hand, “Tonks has told me that if I want to stay down there, that he can move to the other ‘room’, but - I don’t know-” Hermione’s eyes flickered out the window to track Tonks’ floating form, “It’s kind of weird.”

Ginny grunted again, eyes still closed, “Definitely weird.” The back door slammed, the sounds of Molly bustling around the kitchen filtering down the hall. “I mean, it’s not like you can get it on with one of your professors lurking outside the door.”

“Right?” Hermione chuckled, trying in vain to tuck her frizzy hair behind her ear, “I mean I don’t even want to, well, get busy every night. Some space to be alone and cuddle would be nice though.”

One green eye cracked open, “Oh come on; at least naked cuddling” Ginny’s eyebrow crept up lasciviously.

Hermione grinned, “Definitely, especially in this heat.”

The pair devolved into giggles.

Ginny wheezed, throwing her arm over her eyes, “Merlin, I could really do with some naked cuddling with Ha-”

Hermione poked her hard in the ribs, “No, NOPE, that’s where that sentence ENDS” She choked out, grinning from ear to ear, “I refuse to see Harry in that way. I saw him in his knickers once and it -nearly- killed me.”

“Well, you’re gay so I wouldn’t exactly call you an expert!” Ginny scoffed, dumping Hermione off of her and tickling her with ardor.

Hermione shrieked, flailing futilely, “NO NO NO IT’S TOO HOT!”

Molly strode into the living room, wisps of hair escaping from the kerchief wrapped around her sweaty brow; she paused in the middle of the rug and watched as Ginny wollaped a squealing Hermione with a pillow. “Right! I have too much on my plate and I see that you girls need something to do!” Molly enunciated each syllable, unyielding. “Don’t argue!” Molly’s finger came up to wave at them, Ginny gathering herself for a huff; “I have a cake to bake - you know that your father has that big meeting at work and I want to have something nice for his afternoon tea, but I also have to do the laundry and weed the herbs, which have started to go migratory so that is a FULL afternoons work-” Molly paused, hands on her hips, her lips working like a raspberry pip was stuck in her molar. 

The three starred at one another, the sounds from the Quidditch match filtering in through the window; Molly’s foot began to tap on the rug.

“We’ll bake the cake!” Hermione declared, slightly too loud; her palms had begun to sweat as soon as Molly’s expectant stare had landed on them. She could feel Ginny’s glare boring a hole in the side of her head, white-hot and itchy. Without breaking eye contact with Molly she jabbed a finger into Ginny’s side, her ridged smile curling a bit at the younger witches yelp.

Molly scanned the two girls on the couch, her piercing gaze landing on each of them in turn; suddenly her face cracked open into a beaming smile, “That’s wonderful!” She crowed, turning to walk back down the hall, a receding “I’ll be with the herbs!” punctuated with the back door banging shut.

Ginny threw herself backwards onto the couch, groaning like she had eaten one of Fred and George’s Puking Pastilles, “Uuuuuggggghhhhh…’Mione! Why did you DO that?”

“I don’t know! I panicked!”

Ginny put her hands in the air, eyes wide, her lips screwed into mock rage, “Whhhhyyyyyy?!”

“Your mom’s intimidating!”

Ginny whined.

“Come on, I’ll show you how to make my mom’s Victoria Sponge!” Hermione slapped Ginny on the thigh, the red-head’s whine unwavering, “Do you even know how to bake?” Hermione chuckled, continuing to pat Ginny’s leg.

Ginny expelled her pent up breath in a huff, spitting her wandering hair out of her mouth, “No, I don’t actually” Ginny grumbled, “I’ve helped mom in the kitchen a lot, and I know the spells, but I haven’t practised them outside of school…”

“No, like baking” Hermione interrupted, her hand flying to her chest in mock stupefaction when Ginny’s eyebrows stayed perplexed. “Like, muggle baking. Hand-written recipes? Dough on your hands? **MARY BERRY**?” 

Ginny stared at her, blank. 

“Seriously?! Not even Mary Berry?” Hermione’s voice cracked, incredulous and amused. “Okay, we’re going into the kitchen and not coming out until I have taught you every damned step of this recipe AND you are covered head to toe in flour.” 

Ginny put her hands over her face and groaned, though Hermione could clearly see the smile not quite hidden by her palms. 

“Come on! No arguments! We’re doing this. Now!” 

****\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------** **

Tonks touched down, muttering to herself as her feet sunk into a boggy patch in the reeds; the sun was beginning to swing towards the horizon, but the wind had died and the afternoon was sweltering. Shouldering her broom, she slogged towards the edge of the field, seed heads as dry as sand sticking to her sweaty skin. Further down the gravel drive, Fred and George were arguing with Ron over the final play, their broom-handle beater sticks swinging noticeably at their sides. Tonks stood for a moment and watched the brothers, fingers casually brushing the end of her wand in it’s holster at her thigh; Fred gesticulated loudly, drawing the younger Weasley’s attention enough to give George a chance to drop something down the back of Ron’s shirt. The effect was immediate, and apparently invigorating as Ron shrieked and high-tailed it into the field, arms flailing in vain at his shirt, leaving Fred and George in fits. 

Tonks chuckled and turned towards the Burrow; she didn’t have any siblings, but there was something about watching the Weasley clan that made her both long for them, and thank a the stars that she didn’t. She left her broom leaning against the garden wall and caught a glimpse of Molly bobbing about in the herbs as she knocked the dirt off her boots and shook errant grass seeds from her hair. 

Stepping into the Burrow’s mudroom was like walking into a cave; the afternoon was waning hot and still, and the contrasting shadow within made Tonks rub her eyes; Merlin was she sticky. Following a murmur of voices, she wandered down the hall and turned into the kitchen, still blinking the film of dust from her eyes.  
“If you stop whipping that you’re not getting any cake!” Hermione trilled, brow furrowed as she fought with the oven door on the Weasley’s ancient Aga cooker; Ginny’s eyes landed on Tonks from her perch on top of the counter, a large bowl of cream in her lap. Without breaking her desperate eye contact, Ginny jabbed her whisk into the bowl, her lips curling into a snarl as she began to beat the contents, tiny freckled arms straining, a breathy growl emanating from her thin lips. 

Tonks grinned and leaned against the door jamb, snickering quietly as she took in the battered kitchen and their flour-smudged cheeks; Hermione was on her knees in front of the Aga, the giant metal contraption squeaking and shivering as Hermione attempted to get the roasting oven door to close. 

“Oh to Hell with it!” Hermione spat, levering herself to her feet and sweeping her disordered hair from her eyes, “Gin, I absolutely cannot understand these Aga cook-” With a loud bang the roasting door crashed shut. While Hermione was still stiff with shock, Tonks swaggered up behind her and kissed her on the cheek, “All you needed was a little lubricant, my love,” Tonks rumbled, patting Hermione on the shoulder and smirking over to where Ginny sat like a statue on the counter, the beginnings of whipped cream dripping off of her whisk; “Victoria sponge, yeah?” She nodded in the direction of the full cake pans and jar of strawberry jam on the kitchen island, “Personally, my dad always preferred buttercream to whipped cream in a sponge.” 

Hermione visibly shook herself, the hairs on her arms still standing at attention; as quick as a snake she grabbed a wooden spoon off the counter and spun, the spoon coming down with a soft smack on Tonks’ forearm, the older witches finger hovering just over the cream in Ginny’s bowl. “None for you,” She barked, severity seeping from her pores, “And don’t. Stop. Whisking.” Hermione turned on her heel and, picking up the cake tins, swung them into the Aga, and stalked out the back door into the garden. 

Tonks and Ginny eyed each other for a second, the grandfather clock ticking in the background over the pops and hisses of the Aga; with measured movements Tonks raised her wand and tapped the whisk handle with a whisper, her gaze swinging to the empty kitchen door. 

“Don’t let go” Tonks murmured out of the corner of her mouth, and hurried out into the hall towards the garden door; behind her, Ginny suddenly found the whisk spinning around the bowl in increasingly hectic circles, her hand merely hanging on for dear life, a thin whimper gaining octaves as the cream thickened 


End file.
